


thinking is all wrong, love will happen when it wants

by undeliveredtruth



Series: strange land [1]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Category is: Hallmark Movie, Dialogue Heavy, Emotional Baggage, Exes to Lovers, Getting Back Together, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Past Yunho/Seonghwa, Returning Home, Side Yunho/Hongjoong, Slice of Life, These are kinda important I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:06:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25232863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undeliveredtruth/pseuds/undeliveredtruth
Summary: Park Seonghwa, big shot creative director at one of the biggest advertising companies in Korea, is well-known in the industry for his quick ascent through his company, his cold attitude, his perfectionism, the incredible quality of his work. So it is a surprise to everyone, maybe even to himself, when he suddenly quits his job to move to his hometown for a break, back to his mother’s cooking and the familiar streets of his youth.Nothing much has changed back home. Not even Choi San, his high school sweetheart, who now runs his grandparents’ restaurant. San is still sweet, kind, comfortable, sharp, with an edge…Everything that’s missing from Seonghwa’s life.
Relationships: Choi San/Park Seonghwa
Series: strange land [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1870756
Comments: 81
Kudos: 229





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this was supposed to happen in time for Sanhwa Week... but it got out of hand because these are the best boys ever and I love them. I'll have the second chapter out probably in the next couple of days; I hope you'll enjoy it! <3 (Also, the first chapter has no explicit scenes, so if you would like to leave it at that, I think you can!)

Seonghwa wakes up with faint light peeking through the sheer, pale blue curtains. And what a way to wake up. He had become so used to the black, unnatural light-blocking curtains in his apartment, the shrill of his alarm at 5 in the morning, that this… the silence, the peace, is almost strange. 

Padding down the stairs, the smell of fried eggs welcomes him to the kitchen. He yawns, the sound causing his mom to turn around. Just like in high school, he smiles to himself.

“Oh, great. I was just going to wake you up. Good morning,” his mom smiles, and Seonghwa answers in kind, pouring himself a cup of coffee and sitting down at the table to wait for the food she’s making. He tries to wake up at a decently early time so he can at least eat breakfast with his mom (make it if he has time too), if he can’t catch his dad.

When they’re both sat at the table, his mom hums. “Seonghwa-ya, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Are you dating anyone?”

Seonghwa chokes on his egg and fried rice, taking a sip of coffee to wash them down. “No, mom. I would’ve told you.”

“What about that Yunho boy?” 

“We broke up. At the end of last year. I told you about it.” 

“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry, I forgot. You still talk about him so often.”

Regretfully, it was Seonghwa’s fault. He had been too busy with everything, too taken with the mess going on at work to be able to make it work between them. When he started snapping at Yunho, when their date nights had started feeling like a chore instead of something to look forward to in his week, Seonghwa decided to call it quits. 

It would have been a disservice to Yunho to continue it when Seonghwa had clearly been so incapable of loving him; or, that is how he felt back then. He saw things a little bit differently afterwards, for a while: it was a disservice to Yunho to not put any effort into it. 

But by when he realized, it was way too late, and it never felt appropriate, _right,_ to go back and tell him. 

Yunho is now more than happy with Hongjoong, and Seonghwa is incredibly happy for them. They were friends first, and Hongjoong is the absolute sweetest, cutest person alive, even if he would protest at the description; he and Yunho deserve each other, and Seonghwa is lucky to see them together.

So Seonghwa is also _glad_ he didn’t try to get Yunho back because he would have succeeded—and nothing would have changed. Seonghwa has become too jaded and cynical to be able to really love. And that is alright—Seonghwa is much better off by himself, and does not need anyone warming his bed on the constant to make him happy. Everything he needs can be resolved with a good bout of meaningless sex.

“I know,” Seonghwa continues, soothing his mother’s worried look with a hand on hers. He seems to be doing this often ever since he has come back home, let his mind wander off places. “We’re still close friends.”

“Is that good for you?”

In his mind, there are flashes of Yunho’s happy laughter, head thrown back and eyes closed, and Hongjoong’s private, low smile from next to him, eyes fixed on Yunho’s face. There’s a tug on his heart, like scratching at a closed, but yet to be fully healed wound; phantom anger, some hurt still seeps out. “Yes. It’s good for me.” 

He smiles, the corner of his lips tugging up. His mother doesn’t say anything, but her eyes soften, her hand reaching up to press gently on his cheek with an all-knowing smile. Seonghwa leans into her comforting touch; this is why he’s come home. “How about picking up something nice for dinner tonight?”

“What would you like?”

“Why don’t we get some _dakbokkeumtang?_ I’m craving some.”

“Dad won’t eat it. It’s too spicy.”

“Pfft,” his mother waves a hand at him, turning around to head to the hallway. Seonghwa chuckles. “A bit of spice won’t hurt him.”

Seonghwa isn’t a fan of spicy foods either, but that’s the point. That’s what his mother has taught him ever since he was maybe five years old; when you’re sad, eat something spicy: if your emotions won’t let you cry, release them through the spice.

He does not do much more these days other than lay around, maybe feed the chicken, watch all the dramas on TV, and eat, so maybe he can do this much, pick something up and wait for them.

“Do you have any preference?”

“There’s a restaurant, I’ll send you the address when I get to work,” she tells him, grabbing her purse and running to put on her shoes and go to work. “I think you might know it, the people who run it have a kid who’s your age. I think you were friends.”

Seonghwa freezes.

“Goodbye, baby. Lunch is in the fridge, alright?” his mom kisses his cheek and leaves the house; Seonghwa barely manages to send a _goodbye, mom_ after her. 

He would prefer if it wasn’t. But of course it is. 

When his mother sends him the link to the restaurant, _The Sky over the Mountain_ , the chuckle that leaves Seonghwa is surprisingly fond. San always had a blush high on his cheeks whenever he pulled Seonghwa through the back doors of the restaurant after school; all in all, Seonghwa was probably more familiar with the storage room of the restaurant (that conveniently could lock from the inside), than the restaurant itself. 

But he hasn’t really talked to San in over eight years, unless he counts the couple of times during his university breaks he came home and stumbled across him. Because he still feels guilty about the almost cruel way he ended things; it always felt unfair. 

That seems to be a trend in Seonghwa’s life—stumbling out of relationships, and making a mess in the process.

However, it is a healthy amount of curiosity that pulls him out of the house around dinner time, before he knows his parents are about to get home. He dresses up for the first time in a week, puts on a pair of well-fitted white pants and a black sweater, alongside his well-loved cream coat. 

One week is by far not enough to reverse years’ worth of habits, the desire to always look good in public, put-together and polished. Showering, fixing his hair, choosing well-fitting clothes—all routines drilled in his head as nothing less but necessity. 

Because they are. Seonghwa steps out of the house with his AirPods in his ears, setting out on the walk to the restaurant. The streets, the houses, the shops, are all familiar in a way that makes him almost ache. He didn’t… he wasn’t necessarily the best version of himself in high school; the streets he walks and used to hate are a reminder of that.

But that is in the past. Soon enough, the restaurant appears on the corner of the street, different from what Seonghwa remembers. It is clearly more modern now, from the sign, to the postings on the windows, the simple but automatic glass door. Seonghwa presses a button to open it, and an electronic bell sound jingles to signal his arrival. 

“Welcome, how many—“ 

“Hi,” Seonghwa says. 

In front of front of him, Choi San stands frozen. 

“Ah—Seonghwa-hyung? Am I dreaming?” 

Eight years later, and San sounds just as adorable as he did in high school. 

The rest of him has clearly changed though; his bone structure, the angles of his face, show a maturity he didn’t have back then. Subtly, Seonghwa’s eyes wander down his body, to where his apron rests on wide shoulders and wraps around a tiny waist. He’s grown up to be this handsome, _stunning_ man from his cute, cuddly San. 

“Yes,” Seonghwa smiles, his small one that is always painted on his face for work and his hook-ups. “How are you, San-ssi?”

“Uhm… I’m good! I didn’t know you were back in town,” San squeaks, still the littlest bit shellshocked. Seonghwa gets it; it mustn’t be easy seeing a ghost of your past show up on your doorstep like this.

“Ah, just for a bit. I’m between jobs right now, so I thought I’d take some time to relax,” Seonghwa chuckles. He doesn’t know what possessed him to add this information, but… San was always easy to talk to.

“That’s so awesome,” San nods, eyes wide, and right then the bell jingles behind Seonghwa, bringing two more people in. “Ah, I’m sorry, Seonghwa-hyung…”

“No worries. I’m just here to get some takeout, if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” San leads him to a small two-people table in the front, before bounding away. The woman whom Seonghwa remembers as San’s grandmother comes to his table, stopping with a hand on her hip.

“Oh my. Is this Park Seonghwa?” she smiles at him. Seonghwa gets up to greet and bow respectfully to her, sitting down when she puts a hand on his shoulder, waving him off. “I haven’t seen you since you and Sannie hung around here in high school.”

“It is,” Seonghwa nods kindly, politely. “I moved to Seoul right after high school and didn’t have too many chances to come back.”

“Well, I’m glad you came to visit. Your parents must be so happy,” she tuts, bringing out a menu. 

Seonghwa takes it from her and looks over it, ordering three portions of the _dakbokkeumtang._ It’s not too common to get it as takeout, but San’s grandmother hands it to him with a _pajeon_ as service, and pats him on the arm when he bows deeply to thank her. 

And then he heads to the entrance, and catches San’s eyes on his. So he stops. 

“It was nice to see you,” Seonghwa tells San, politely looking at him, trying (and perhaps failing) to not stare.

“It was nice to see you too, hyung,” San smiles in return, a bright, large smile that is so at home on San’s face. Seonghwa makes to leave, but a noise makes him turn back around. “Uh, I… have the same number as in high school,” San mumbles, eyes falling down and shooting back up. “If you’d ever want to catch up. No pressure though!”

“Ah,” Seonghwa scratches at his neck with his free hand. “I actually don’t. I changed it right after high school.” He pulls out his phone from his coat pocket, quickly unlocking it and heading to the contacts. Pressing the plus button, he hands it to San. “If you want to put it in again? Sorry about that.”

“No, don’t apologize,” San quickly takes his phone and presses his number in, locking it and handing it back to Seonghwa. Seonghwa picks it up and puts it in his pocket again, sending San a little wave. 

“I’ll text you then. It was nice seeing you, San-ah.” 

“I… you too.” 

And Seonghwa really walks out of the restaurant this time, letting the little jingle of the bell mark his exit. Smiling as he turns the corner and heads towards the house, he unlocks his phone and puts his AirPods back in his ears, letting music play through them. And then he heads to his contacts, and scrolls down. 

_San_ ⛰️ stares at him, with a number Seonghwa knew once by heart. Huh. So much time has passed since then. 

He doesn’t get the chance to even think about texting San before 9 PM; his parents head to their room, and Seonghwa is left on his own in the living room to watch the latest episode of one of the dramas he’s following. Seonghwa sees through the TV more than at it, however, in favor of fiddling with his phone, rolling it between his fingers and bouncing it off the couch. 

He wonders if it would be a good idea, to text San. Seonghwa hadn’t been… the kindest with how he left their town, and _them,_ off. Young and immature, captivated by the tinkling treasures of Seoul, Seonghwa had been akin to a whirlwind—spun around himself, building up ideas, dreams, thoughts that ended up being more far off than not far off from the truth, and catching others in his mess in the process. Insecurities hadn’t let him truly value what he had in his life at the time, and he’d hate to bring those things up in San again, when he is sure the other boy has long since moved on.  


But Seonghwa is _curious_. There is a thread of childlike excitement in his chest as he finally opens his phone and presses San’s contact and the messages button afterwards.

_‘Hi! This is Seonghwa.’_

Right away, maybe five seconds after, the typing bubbles appear, and then they suddenly stop. Seonghwa chuckles, because that is San for you. 

Or well, was. Seonghwa figures he doesn’t know him anymore. 

** _‘Seonghwa-hyung! Thank you for texting me~’_ **

** _‘Are you doing well?’_ **

Seonghwa settles deeper into the back of the couch, sprawled across it. 

_‘I’m doing well. How about you?’_

** _‘Me too! How come you’re back though? o.O’_ **

_‘I quit my previous job, and while I’m looking for another one, I figured I’d come home and spend some time with my parents.’_

_‘How about you? Have you stayed here?’_ Seonghwa sends the messages, and then immediately drops his phone on the couch. That did not sound too kind; maybe even patronizing. _Really, Seonghwa?_

But he immediately picks it up when the screen lights up, drama forgotten on the screen. 

** _‘Sorry to hear that! Glad you’re back though!!’_ **

** _‘I have for a while. Left for a couple years, and came back after’_ **

For a second, he ponders on what to say, staring at the TV. _Good for you?_ Mayhaps not; maybe asking him what for would be best. But before he can, another message appears on his screen; he must have missed the typing bubble entirely.

** _‘Seonghwa-hyung, I’m sorry but I have to help with closing down the restaurant now’_ **

** _‘If you’re free, you should come by soon! I’d love to chat with you more!!’_ **

Seonghwa smiles to himself at San’s excitement, somehow feeling better knowing that San doesn’t seem to hate him. 

_‘Sure. I’ll come by for lunch.’_

The next day, almost 3 PM sees Seonghwa on the corner of the street, hidden from the glass of the restaurant. He should head in; he really should, it’s late enough.

That ounce of hesitation in him almost turns him around and takes him back home; it’s been quite a while since he’s felt like this, uncertain in any way. There is usually no room for doubt in his life, because if he steps wrong just once or hesitates for just a moment, that is weakness enough to get him _eaten._

It’s fitting that being back in his hometown is bringing things he never expected to back to the surface. But this volatile person doesn’t feel like Seonghwa at all. So he takes the final few steps to the door of the restaurant, pushing the button with the electronic jingle ringing to welcome him. There is nobody at the entrance, but another worker, a girl who doesn’t look like she’s any older than twenty, comes to welcome him. 

“Welcome. Is it one person?”

“Ah, yes,” Seonghwa nods. “Although… I was wondering if San is here?” 

“Yes! San-oppa is in the back. Would you like me to call him?”

“Sure, please. Only if he’s free,” Seonghwa smiles, following the girl to a small booth against the wall. He didn’t get the chance to look around much yesterday, but the restaurant looks bounds ahead compared to how it did when they were still in high school. It used to be this tiny, hole-in-the-wall place with fantastic food, but now Seonghwa can see the love put in to make it grow: from the spotless tables and booths, to the slightly larger space, the impeccable menus, and still fantastic food. He imagines San himself put a lot of work into it, and it shows; despite it being quite a while later than lunch time, the restaurant is still almost full.

“Hi, hyung. Sorry for making you wait,” San drops into the other side of the booth, pulling off his apron and leaving it next to him. 

“You didn’t, don’t worry. Do you have a break?”

“I told my grandma I’ll take one for a bit, yeah.”

“It’s so busy,” Seonghwa comments with clear appreciation, watching as a proud smile appears on San’s face. “That’s amazing.” 

“I know. We’ve worked really hard these past years to make it.” 

Seonghwa hums. “You can tell. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, hyung. What about you? What have you been up to?”

“Ah, not much,” Seonghwa places his chin in his palm, looking right into San’s eyes. “I took a job as a designer at an advertising company in Seoul, and then got promoted to creative director.”

“That sounds so cool. I don’t know what it is, to be honest with you, but it sounds like it fits you.”

“Does it?” Seonghwa chuckles. “Well, I guess it did.”

“Oh. You said you quit it, right? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—“ San sounds so genuinely apologetic, slightly panicked at offending him, that Seonghwa puts a hand on his with a smile.

“Don’t worry, San-ah. It’s alright.”

“Why did you quit it? If you want to share, of course,” San asks, and Seonghwa takes his hand away, interlocking his own hands on the edge of the table.

“Uhm,” Seonghwa starts, unsure of how to put it. “I loved the job. They were just… at some point, they started demanding things of me that I just couldn’t do.” 

“Oh, like work wise?”

“No, not really,” Seonghwa smiles, and leaves it at that. Maybe he had lost most of his morals at points along the way, but even he had some sort of dignity left. 

Maybe. 

“Sorry to hear. Are you just taking some time off then?”

“Yes, a while. I’ll be looking for some other jobs again soon,” he nods. “What about you? What have you been doing?”

“Oh, well. Not too much, I guess. I went to culinary school for like two years, but I still lived at home. And then I came back, and started helping my grandparents with the restaurant seriously. I do most of their financial stuff, and logistical stuff, and things like that.”

“That is really cool,” Seonghwa nods, impressed. “Culinary school?”

“Yeah, I guess. It felt right at the time,” San nods, the slightest pout on his lips. “I learned a lot, got to practice some of it when I came back. I guess it’s nice.”

Seonghwa nods, smiling at the light tone in San’s voice, a comfortable silence falling upon them.

“Oh! Food. Do you want to eat something?” San suddenly asks, straightening up. 

“Sure,” Seonghwa chuckles. 

“What would you like?”

“Hmm…” Seonghwa doesn’t really feel like he’s craving anything. “Make me your favorite dish?” 

And San bounds off. Seonghwa checks his phone, browses his Instagram, answers a text from a previous coworker, and smiles when San comes back, tray full with side dishes and a plate brimming with some sort of braised chicken. He brings out two small plates, and hands Seonghwa his own. 

“I’m sorry, I forgot to ask if you liked fish or seafood and stuff like that, so I thought chicken is a safe bet.”

“I don’t mind seafood at all,” Seonghwa answers, picking up the chopsticks and digging into the _Andong jjimdak_. It looks delicious.

And tastes even more so. There’s an orgasm in his mouth, to say the least; he’s missed the food back home the most, perhaps, the tastes and dishes he could never find replicated in Seoul. And he makes sure to tell San so, genuinely excited to see the blooming smile on San’s face as he picks at the dish. 

San starts telling him more about culinary school at Seonghwa’s prompting, and Seonghwa shares stories of his time in Seoul: what he’s missed, what he found different, some stuff about his job. Conversation with San flows easy—as it always has, really. Seonghwa is glad to see that much hasn’t changed; San is an excellent conversation partner, genuinely excited to listen and speak both. 

Seonghwa realizes now just how much he’s _missed that._

So much so that more than one hour later, when the food is all gone and the drinks San has put in front of Seonghwa are also finished, Seonghwa finds himself almost disappointed to have to leave. But San’s grandmother comes to the table to pick up their plates, which has San’s eyes wandering after her. 

“You can go if you need to.” 

“Mmm,” San nods, nervously biting his bottom lip in his mouth. Why, Seonghwa can’t tell. “Will you come back then?” 

“Sure. I don’t have much to do at home, so… any time.” 

“Come back tomorrow?” San throws. Seonghwa blinks at him, just the littlest bit, sort of thrown off by the edge of the question. 

But he smiles. “Sure. Same time?”

“Sure,” San nods. “I’ll look forward to seeing you!”

And so, Seonghwa finds himself greeted by the little electronic bell for three days in a row, at 3 PM sharp like the day before.

This time, it is San who welcomes him at the door, no apron on him. 

“Hi,” he smiles at Seonghwa, and Seonghwa finds himself smiling back. 

“Hi.”

This time, San also comes to his table with some fried rice with seafood that he can’t place until San tells him what it is, going on a rant about the types of seafood found in the area and how difficult it is to get some quality pieces nowadays. San’s knowledge and interest is fascinating to Seonghwa, and it makes the fried rice taste even more delicious when San tells him exactly what is in it and how he made it.

“Sorry, I must be boring you,” San stops at some point, deflating in his booth. It takes Seonghwa by surprise; did he say anything to make San think he wasn’t interested?

“You really aren’t,” Seonghwa swallows his last bite. “I think it’s amazing that you know so much. Seeing your passion is great.” 

“Really?”

“Yes. When we were in high school, I would have never figured out this is what you wanted to do, but it suits you perfectly.”

A small smile appears on San’s face. “Well… I figured out that if I want to know how to eat food and critique it, I must know how to make it too. Plus… it’s helping my grandparents too, so…”

Seonghwa tilts his head, looking at San. Maybe it’s not his place to prod. “I’m kind of envious of you, can I say that? You look happy.”

San laughs a soft little noise, head thrown back for just a second. “I don’t know, I’ve stopped wondering if I am.”

And he stops, eyes boring into Seonghwa’s with that smile playing on his face. The mood is heavy and light both, for just a moment.

“Hey…” San starts again, flitting his eyes over Seonghwa, his smile disappearing. Seonghwa notices with glee that he’s still an open book to him, even after such a long time. “Do you want to get a coffee, by any chance?”

“You’re not working today?” Seonghwa asks, wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin. Of course he isn’t; they’ve been here for more than an hour and San made no sign to leave.

“No, taking a day off. Tuesdays are usually not busy at all, so it’s okay.”

“I’d love to get a coffee then.”

Slowly, Seonghwa finds himself spending more time with San than he’d figured he would. A week passes, and then one more, and before he knows, he’s been at home for three weeks, and two of them he’s spent mostly with San. He’s taken up eating most lunches at the restaurant, sometimes with San if he had time, sometimes by himself, watching a variety show or YouTube timelapses of drawings or designs. Once, he even brings his (untouched since he came home) sketchbook with him, and stays way beyond lunchtime to doodle the restaurant. 

First the booths against the other wall, then the tables in the center. The paintings on the walls, some undescript people. The he turns the page, and Eunkyung, the part-timer working at the restaurant, comes by his table. He stops her with a gentle _hey,_ and she turns to him with a small smile.

“Do you mind if I draw you?” he points at his sketchbook.

She blushes, her mouth dropping. Seonghwa barely holds back a chuckle; okay, maybe he shouldn’t have asked like that. 

“Uhm, sure,” she nods, quickly, and bounds off. Seonghwa laughs to himself and puts his pencil to the paper, observing her for reference as she cleans a table. 

Maybe five minutes later, San comes to his booth, leaning on the edge to look at Seonghwa. “You’re flustering my employees,” he teases, a smirk on his face. “Eunkyung dropped a whole tub of kimchi in the back just now.”

“I’m sorry, I maybe should have asked differently. I already drew the whole restaurant, so I wanted to draw something else, and thought she’d appreciate it,” he smiles behind a hand, kind of embarrassed.

“Can I see? Your drawings. If you want to share them.”

Seonghwa turns the sketchbook to him, turning it one page back after San sees the half-drawing of her. “I’m not talented, really, but I’ve learned some techniques in university.”

San grins at the page, looking up at Seonghwa and down at it again. “That looks pretty damn great to me.” From San, it sounds like genuine praise. Like he really means it, happiness blooming across his face at the sight of Seonghwa’s drawing. 

“Do you want it?” Seonghwa asks, and San’s eyes widen. “Or I can draw it better and give you an actually proper one.”

“No, you don’t have to. I’d… I love it. Thank you.” Seonghwa neatly rips the paper from his sketchbook, and hands it to San. He takes it with a smile and a whispered thank you, before Eunkyung comes and taps him slightly on his shoulder, a blush still on her face. 

And San leaves with a wink. 

Seonghwa finishes Eunkyung’s drawing, and hands it to her when leaving the restaurant an hour or so later with a smile. She blushes again, bows and bounds away with the drawing clutched to her chest.

The small sketches of San walking around, winking at him, hip propped on the wall… he keeps those ones to himself.

The next Friday, picking up groceries from the supermarket at 9 AM, Seonghwa receives a call from Yunho. He quickly answers it, wondering what’s going on. 

_“Hyung!”_ He calls out, and Hongjoong’s voice filters in as well. _“Sorry to call you so suddenly.”_

“Hello. What’s going on?” He answers, putting a block of tofu in his basket. 

_“We’re going on a trip to Daegu, but right now… we might be on our way to your town. Do you have time for lunch with us today?”_

Seonghwa’s eyebrows raise, but he’s not surprised. Yunho and Hongjoong might not seem like it, but they are the kings of poorly thought through, impromptu decisions. And Seonghwa is usually the one to suffer the brunt of them. 

“Sure.” Not like he has much to do anyway. “Do you need an address?” 

_“If you wanna text your home address to us, maybe we can meet you there?”_

“Of course. I’ll see you later today.” And Seonghwa hangs up after their goodbyes with a smile on his face.

Well, this will be a fun one to explain to his mom.

Well, despite everything, despite the entirely undignified but necessary way Seonghwa essentially ran away from Seoul, seeing Yunho and Hongjoong feels _nice._

He had realized, in the month or so since he’s been home, that he’s now entirely over Yunho. 

Figures. It didn’t take streams of models through his bed, burying himself in work, parties or alcohol. All it took was some time at home, away from everything, and the tug in his heart when he sees Hongjoong’s hand in Yunho’s seems to be gone.

“Hi, hyung,” Yunho hugs him, tight, and even _Hongjoong_ does. They must have really missed him. 

“Well, welcome to my home.”

“It’s really nice,” Hongjoong comments, in the hallway to Seonghwa’s house. “It feels… really homely."

“Do you want a tour?” Seonghwa offers, and at their excited nods, he takes them throughout the house. And then to the back garden, showing them the chickens, the vegetables, the fruit trees, the places he used to sit in the shade and read his books in middle school. Yunho wants to actually pet one of the chickens, which to Seonghwa is absolutely the worst idea, but he takes him back there anyway. 

And catches him a chicken. 

“Wait… can I actually touch it?” Yunho asks, in clear awe, and Seonghwa laughs. 

“Sure. I’m holding her now so she doesn’t get away, but once you start touching her, she’s probably going to start trying to.”

Yunho awkwardly pets the chicken on the head, startling away when it starts shaking in Seonghwa’s arms and he puts her down. “Thank you?”

“Did you satisfy your curiosity?” 

“I did. Thank you, hyung.” At his side, Hongjoong snorts a laugh, meeting eyes with Seonghwa. 

“You look different like this,” he comments as Seonghwa latches the gate to the chicken coop once again.

“Hmm. How?”

“Like…” Hongjoong waves a hand over him. He’s dressed normally, in a shirt and jeans, but he’s wearing the cheap plastic waterproof boots worn for doing work in the garden or dealing with animals. “I never would’ve thought I’d see the cold, sharp Park Seonghwa like this.”

Seonghwa smiles. He didn’t misunderstand Hongjoong’s words, and it is not his fault, but they’re hitting somewhere Seonghwa would rather not touch. He came home to escape everything, not to be reminded of the expectations he and others put on himself when he was in Seoul. “I know. But it’s a good break,” he answers instead. 

He also knows the next question: when are you coming back? 

But thankfully, both Yunho and Hongjoong don’t ask it, leave the elephant floating above their heads as he takes them back into the house through the back exit. 

“Do you have a place you’d recommend for lunch?” Yunho asks when they’re at the front door. 

“I actually do, yes. Just let me change quickly?” Summer is starting to hit, so Seonghwa replaces his long-sleeved shirt with a short one as he joins Yunho and Hongjoong back at the door. When he walks out, he already sees neighbors staring at Yunho’s Bentley parked in front of Seonghwa’s house. If they needed any sort of confirmation that Seonghwa was doing well in Seoul, on top of the renovations his parents did to their house, he figures this is it. 

He’s undoubtedly going to be the talk of the town for quite a while, especially considering how Yunho and Hongjoong are also holding hands.

Yunho has the kind of money Seonghwa had always dreamed to have; he can acknowledge now that envy might have been one of Seonghwa’s biggest flaws in their relationship, and Yunho’s money and status one of the biggest reasons for which Yunho was the only person Seonghwa had even thought of dating seriously. But as he steps into the backseat of Yunho’s car, it barely matters any, and it is such a refreshing feeling. He’s proud of his own Aston Martin, second-hand as it might’ve been, as much as he still has left to pay for it. He left it behind in Seoul, but mayhaps he should have brought it. It doesn’t seem to hold any bitterness.

He wakes up from his thoughts enough to give Yunho details about where the restaurant is, and where to park his car. He does, and they walk the rest of the way to it. 

The electronic bell jingling feels sort of different this time. Eunkyung welcomes him with an excited “Seonghwa-oppa! You’re back!” and then gasps when she sees Yunho and Hongjoong behind him. 

“Hello, Eunkyung-ah. 3 people, please?”

She leads them to Seonghwa’s favorite booth towards the back left of the restaurant, from where he can usually see everyone and have a good drawing perspective. Right as she leaves, Hongjoong narrows his eyes at him. 

“Don’t tell me you have something with her.” 

Seonghwa chuckles. “Don’t worry, Hongjoong-ah. Not by far.”

“Damn right. She’s too young,” he mumbles, opening his menu. 

Right when Seonghwa convinces them to let them order for him and introduce them to some of the famous dishes here, San appears at their table instead of Eunkyung, bringing three cups and a bottle of water.

“Hi, Seonghwa-hyung,” he starts, voice similar to how he usually talks to the customers, not to Seonghwa. 

“Hi, San-ah. These are Yunho and Hongjoong, my friends from Seoul,” Seonghwa introduces them. To Yunho and Hongjoong, “this is San. We were… friends in highschool, his grandparents own this restaurant.” 

“It’s nice to meet you. Are you just here to visit?”

“Yes, we came to see Seonghwa, and he told us so much about this place. We’re _so_ excited to try your food,” Hongjoong smiles his disarming smile at San. Seonghwa hides a smirk behind the back of his hand. Hongjoong read San in two seconds straight.

Seonghwa tells him what they’ll have, and San walks off with the menus. When he’s probably right out of earshot, Hongjoong turns to him. 

“He’s into you.”

Seonghwa laughs, throwing his head back and to the side, turning back to Hongjoong and Yunho with a smile. “You think?”

“Clearly. He looked like stars were shining in his eyes for a second there.” 

“We used to date in high school,” Seonghwa supplies, still smiling. 

“No way,” Yunho’s mouth drops. “Really?”

“Mhm. For like a year and a half, pretty much. I ended it when I moved to Seoul; I was pretty cold, to be honest.”

“I’m not surprised,” Hongjoong comments; Seonghwa deserved that. “But really? I couldn’t have seen that.” 

“Why not?”

“He doesn’t seem like your type,” Hongjoong provides. The humor of the statement strikes Seonghwa, and by the likes of it, Yunho and Hongjoong as well. Thankfully, the three of them’s relationship had never been awkward; even after Yunho got broken up with and moved right on to dating Seonghwa’s best friend.

“Well, there’s not much choice in a town like this. He was cute, and we had fun.” 

“That doesn’t sound like dating to me,” Hongjoong’s eyebrow raises. 

“I don’t think Seonghwa-hyung knows what dating is. Or wants to,” Yunho remarks, entirely serious, but the playful tone remains hidden under his words.

“Kind of strange for you to be the one to say that to me, no?”

“You’ve gotten laid more often since you’ve been single than while you were dating me. I think that says a lot.” 

At that, Seonghwa rolls his eyes at Yunho, hitting his hand with the back of his spoon and watching as Yunho mockingly cringes away in pain, and turns to Hongjoong with puppy eyes to _kiss it better._ But Hongjoong only ignores him, rolling his own eyes at him in a split second and turning back to Seonghwa.

Suddenly, side dishes get placed on the table; Seonghwa looks up and to the left, and sees San wordlessly putting down the little bowls, one after another, without any single word. Not like he’d have anything to say to that, really; Seonghwa resists the urge to stare at him. 

Trust Yunho to get his timing perfectly right. 

“The food will be out soon.” 

“Thank you, San-ah,” Seonghwa smiles at him, turning back around to Hongjoong and Yunho as he leaves, catching their matching lidded eyes on him. 

“You’re fucking nasty,” Hongjoong points his chopsticks at him with an accusing look. “He seems sweet. Don’t ruin him.” 

“To be fully honest with you…” Seonghwa starts. “You know I am not that mean. And I know it’s not a good idea.” 

“But you want to anyway. And not that mean. Huh.” The roll of Hongjoong’s eyes to Seonghwa is so familiar by this point. “I’ve seen you ruin people’s self-esteem with one word before. Not once, multiple times.”

Well, Seonghwa has always thought his coldness is wildly overestimated. The persona he put on at work was nowhere near how he really felt.

”Just… be careful,” Hongjoong warns him. Seonghwa deserves it entirely from Hongjoong, that and more. Since Hongjoong was the one who had to pick up after his mess before.

“I will, mother.” 

That’s when Eunkyung comes with their food, steaming plates of seafood and chicken dishes. Seonghwa knows he didn’t order all of these, but Eunkyung just tells them to enjoy and bounds away. 

Conversation flows easily throughout the meal, Yunho and Hongjoong catching him up with life in Seoul; with Mingi’s promotion, the follow up to Hongjoong’s song picked up as a famous idol group’s title track, the way Jongho refuses to introduce them to his girlfriend after all this while. Seonghwa doesn’t blame him; with how fleeting things in their lives are, he’d also want to know something’s solid and worth it before he launched with it publicly. Seonghwa heard about some of these things directly from his friends as well, but Yunho and Hongjoong talking about it is more than interesting. 

And before he knows it, they’re done, and Seonghwa swipes his card at the entrance to Yunho’s protest; Hongjoong doesn’t even bother. Eunkyung waves them off and Seonghwa laughs when he sees the way her eyes can’t seem to land on Yunho, knowing he’s lost the spot as her favorite.

When he gets in the car and puts his seatbelt on, his phone vibrates in his jeans pocket. Taking it out, he sees a message from San. 

** _‘Hi. Do you happen to be free for drinks tonight?’_ **

He huffs with laughter, getting Hongjoong’s attention on him from the passenger seat. He turns his phone to him, typing a response as Hongjoong tells Yunho and his resounding laugh rings within the car.

_‘Sure, I’d love to. What time works for you?’_

** _‘Is 9 fine?’_ **

_‘I’ll pick you up from the restaurant.’_ he answers San, and turns back to the front to talk to Hongjoong. 

They eventually leave after dropping Seonghwa off, but not before making Seonghwa promise he won’t fully shut himself away anymore. He knows he’s worried them, so he takes their words in stride, and tells himself he really needs to be better, that he really has people who care about him now. And he sends them away, heading back in to do some cooking before his mother gets home.

When he walks into the restaurant at 9 PM, things are just winding down; it’s just Eunkyung in the front cleaning the tables; Seonghwa feels his phone vibrate and sees San texted him an _‘I’m in the back, sorry I’ll be a little late’._

So he joins Eunkyung, picking up another cloth and wiping the tables alongside her. 

“Oh, oppa, you don’t have to,” she tells him, but her voice is lacking the energy it usually has. She must be tired; days here are long. 

“That’s alright. How are you doing?” Seonghwa asks, trying to prod and see whether she’s actually not feeling alright. He’s grown fond of her in the time he’s come here; he’s always wanted a younger sister _,_ and her energy and hope for the future are a nice reminder that people can still hold their kindness in a world that seems to want to stripe them of it.

She and San are pretty similar from that point of view.

“I’m doing alright. My mom is not doing too great though, so I’ve been picking up a couple more hours. I’ll need them because I’m going back to university next year, so we’re trying to save up now.” 

“Well, if you need any help, tell me, alright? Whatever I can do.” 

“I know. Thank you, Seonghwa-oppa,” she smiles, and then her face lights up. “I showed my friends that drawing you did of me! They were so jealous.” 

“I’m happy to hear that. And if you have anything else you want drawn, let me know! I’m trying to find some inspiration while I’m back home, to get back into the love of drawing.”

“I will!” And right when she nods, excited, San walks out from the back. Seonghwa expected him to look like anyone would at the end of a long day at work, tired and exhausted, but San looks… stunning.

Navy sweater tucked in the front of navy pants with some sort of visible stitching, he looks like he just stepped off of a magazine photoshoot, not from the kitchen of a restaurant. The tucked-in sweater accentuates his small waist, and even his blonde hair is done up the slightest bit. 

“Sorry for making you wait, hyung,” he steps up to Seonghwa. 

“Go,” Eunkyung waves them off when none of them say anything for just a second. “I’ll finish the last few tables.”

“Thank you, Eunkyung-ah. Grandma wanted to talk to you, so drop around the back before you leave, alright?” San tells her, and with a wave of his hand, joins Seonghwa through the glass door, stepping out into the slight chill of the evening. Seonghwa is glad he is wearing a blazer over his shirt because otherwise it would’ve been too cold, even in June. 

“There’s this place I really want to show you. Is that fine?” San turns to Seonghwa and asks, and Seonghwa nods. 

“Sure. I trust your taste,” he smiles and joins San on the sidewalk, walking alongside him.

The evening air, the darkening colors of the sky as sunset really turns into night, make Seonghwa feel strangely empty. But in a good way, as San runs off a few events of the day to him and Seonghwa responds in turn, amazed at how San can deal with so much during a day and not crumble at the end. 

He feels like he used to in high school, on the way from school to San’s grandparents’ restaurant; a strange mix of freedom, excitement, calmness. It didn’t feel _right_ for the longest time; to a degree, it still doesn’t. There are too many considerations for anything to ever, truly feel right, but that does not mean Seonghwa doesn’t look at the San next to him and smile.

“It’s just around here,” San points to a place Seonghwa has never seen before, and takes him up the stairs to a building. The place they enter looks like a wine bar, the likes of which he’d find in sketchy alleyways in Seoul, trendy and hidden from view; speakeasys where Hongjoong used to take him when he had gossip to wring from him. Almost fully dark, so you can barely see the person in front—but also comfortable, shades of purple and blue and red, low lamps, abstract paintings, and vintage but coordinated objects laying on small tables all around. Slow R&B from the speakers, not letting people hear anything from another table.

“It’s so cute,” he comments as San takes him in and waves to the bartender, who waves back and points to a table in the back corner. Seonghwa follows San to a low table, and he knows they’re supposed to sit on cushions right on the floor. 

“You still can’t fold your legs,” San comments with a laugh when Seonghwa leans against the wall and extends them in front of him, partially under the table and towards San’s left. 

“Nope. Still can’t,” he nods. 

“That’s so cute,” he throws, neutral. Like it’s nothing. Seonghwa huffs under his breath, picking up the menu. “Want to share a bottle of wine?”

“Sure,” Seonghwa nods. “Pick whatever you’d like, I like most wine. And it’s on me.”

San drops his menu, looking straight at Seonghwa. “Absolutely not,” he shakes his head. “I asked you out.”

“In what world do you think I’d let my _dongsaeng_ pay? Plus, I think I have gotten a lot of free food from you, including today, so I think it is only fair.” 

San doesn’t put up much more of a fight, and talks to the person who comes to take their order; Seonghwa can’t hear over the music, but he trusts San’s taste. 

“Your friends seemed nice,” San starts when the guy leaves, fiddling with a napkin. 

Seonghwa snorts. “They’re little devils.” A fond, affectionate tone hides behind his reply. 

“I could tell. They’re city boys, right?”

“Mmm. Something of the sort, definitely.” It certainly felt strange to have Yunho and Hongjoong in his hometown, in the frame of reference made up of San, and his house, and the restaurant, and the streets he grew up in; different. Strangely invasive, and yet, not bad. 

“Did you…” San starts. Seonghwa fights off a smile because he knows what San will ask. “Did you date one of them?”

“I did,” Seonghwa nods. “For the better part of last year. The other is my best friend.”

“Oh,” San nods, keeps nodding. 

“They’re dating now.”

“Oh,” San nods again, bigger this time, eyes widening, mouth twisting in some sort of _ouch_ expression. “And… you’re okay with that?”

“Yeah. It’s definitely better this way. And I’ve moved on.”

San chuckles at Seonghwa’s reply, just as the waiter comes back with a bottle of white wine in a cooler, two wine glasses, and a charcuterie board. Seonghwa would like to prod to what prompted the chuckle, but he loses the chance when San picks up the wine bottle and pours them each a glass. 

“Cheers?” 

Their glasses clink softly against each other’s, barely audible over the instrumental music playing over the speakers. San’s eyes fixed on his, Seonghwa darts his glass back and takes a sip of the wine. It’s dry, surely with a hint of fruit; maybe apple. He’s fairly sure it’s Chardonnay, and from France.

“This is great,” Seonghwa comments appreciatively, and picks up a little square of what must be cheddar. It is, the flavor blooming softly across his tongue, paired with a little slice of prosciutto and a sip of the crisp, white wine. “Thank you for bringing me here. It’s… different. Warm, cozy.”

“I know Seoul has a lot of these wine bars, but it’s still new here. The owners are my friends.” And San points to the two men behind the bar, “that’s Wooyoung, and that’s Yeosang. They’re in love and they refuse to admit it.” 

Seonghwa chuckles, observing the way the shorter, dark-haired man wraps a hand around the other’s waist to lean over to the other side of the bar and get something. When he pulls back up, the hand lingers on the other’s lower back for just, maybe _half a second_ too long. “I can see it. I think they know it.” 

“This isn’t a fair game. I know them already,” San says with a raised eyebrow, referring to the game they used to play in high school, sitting in cafes or at a table in San’s restaurant during down time, looking at people and trying to guess their stories. The winner would win kisses from the other, or cheap candy bought at the convenience store. Who won had always been an abstract decision, really; it had always been about who made up the most interesting stories, and it used to be San. Almost unfailingly so.

“I know. But let me guess anyway? You can tell me if I’m right.”

San nods, a playful smirk playing across his features. Seonghwa chuckles at him, turning his attention back to the two men behind the bar. “Who’s Wooyoung and who’s Yeosang again?”

“Wooyoung has dark hair, Yeosang has blonde hair.”

“Alright then,” Seonghwa smacks his hands together and rubs them as to say _let’s get started,_ smiling as he catches San’s laughter with the corner of his eye. “So… they’ve known each other for a long time. Childhood friends?”

“Sort of. Middle school.” 

“Hmm. Wooyoung is… loud. Daring? Careless almost?” That isn’t a hard one to call; his movements are self-assured, and the way too many times he seems close to dropping one of the glasses he’s putting in the small dishwasher tell it easily. “Yeosang isn’t. He’s reserved. He wouldn’t ever say anything about it. Quiet, keeps to himself.”

“Huh,” San comments. “Not really. These are shallow takes, Seonghwa-hyung. You can do better.”

“He isn’t quiet or reserved?”

“He is. But only on the surface.”

“Fine,” Seonghwa huffs at the challenge, focusing his eyes to dive deeper. “Uh… He’s poised, I guess. Many people think he’s shy, but he… chooses to be shy? Half, maybe? Doesn’t want other people to see into him because it’s hard to let them in?” He can tell sort of by the way he reaches towards the other, but then holds back. It’s the sign of someone who’s still figuring out how in control he wants to be.

“Go on,” San prods.

“He blooms behind closed doors? With people he’s comfortable with. Probably really funny, in a deadpan way.” 

“Hmm, I’m impressed. That’s a pretty fair take, I guess. What about Wooyoung?” 

“I think he’s very… let’s see, rash? He doesn’t think too much about the things he does. There’s no merit in that, he’d rather just do it. Confident, probably overly so. To a degree where it’s there to make up for insecurities?” That last one is a long shot. 

“That’s fair. He has insecurities, I guess. Also… they live together,” San throws him a bone.

“Hmm. I can see why they’re not telling each other then,” he leans back into the wall, looking at San. 

“Why?” he tilts his head.

“Yeosang doesn’t trust Wooyoung is serious about this, and he thinks all the flirting is just Wooyoung being himself. And Wooyoung feels shut out until he stops trying for a while, but he just keeps coming back because they’ve been together for so long. They don’t know anything else besides each other.”

San keeps silent. 

Seonghwa turns to him, a glint in his eye. “Am I right?”

“You’re… you’re really right,” San’s smirk dropped, and instead, his mouth is curved open in a little o. “How can you tell?”

“You said they like each other, and yet they seem immune to flirting. Like… this isn’t normal,” he discreetly nods to Wooyoung’s lips brushing the shell of Yeosang’s ear, and Yeosang looking entirely unphased. “You said they’re _in love_ with each other actually, not like, and live together. Wooyoung looks like an absolute flirt, and despite how Yeosang seems shy, he’s entirely unaffected, doesn’t reciprocate. You said Wooyoung is insecure, so he’d be affected by that lack of affection. Again, Yeosang is used to it. He doesn’t make anything of it,” he pauses to stare at San. “If you were into someone, wouldn’t you react to the absolute smallest things that could point you in the direction you wanted?”

San’s mouth, still dropped open into that pretty o, catches Seonghwa’s eyes. Once, maybe twice. He looks up, into San’s eyes though. 

“You’re insane.”

“Our games helped me,” Seonghwa shrugs, turning back fully to the table. “I’ve taken them with me, and honed my craft.” At San’s raised eyebrows, radiating skepticism, he shrugs again. “Half of it is dumb luck. Generic stuff.”

“I hate you,” San laughs, taking another sip of wine. 

And Seonghwa chuckles in return, munching on a cracker. “Do you?”

San shakes his head, eating a piece of prosciutto and looking back up at Seonghwa. “So… how was Seoul?”

Seonghwa could respond lightly, but he doesn’t feel like it. The relaxed atmosphere of the bar, San’s big, heavy eyes on him… “It’s complicated. Really.” 

“How?” San takes another sip of wine.

“Mmm… I’m doing all I ever wanted to be doing. I loved my job, I found people I care about and who care about me. I’m living comfortably, I finally have a great relationship with my parents—“ He stops. For just a second, the awareness that these are things he never really shares with anybody, maybe barely some with Hongjoong and Yunho, hits him. 

“But…?”  


“There’s so much that pulls you in all directions, so much that scratches noise in your head and leaves you blank and empty and tired, that it’s hard to remember these things matter,” he breathes out. 

San respects the weight of the words Seonghwa just spoke with the silence that falls over the table. A slightly heavier song hits—a low, deep rap over a calm, but hard beat.

“Are you happier now that you’re back here?”

“Can I be fair with you?”

“Of course.”

“No,” Seonghwa shakes his head. “It’s temporary. I am happy because I know this is a break, and I deserve one, and I’m content. But I need to go back, so I will eventually need to learn what is wrong and how to fix it.”

“I wish I had something worth saying,” San nods, and bites a lip between his teeth. “This is not easy stuff. But… you’ve always seemed to me like the kind of person that knows things in themselves and in others. More than anyone else ever does.” And his eyes bore into Seonghwa’s, honest. San always means what he says; that’s what Seonghwa has always loved in him. “I think that if anyone has the power to figure it out… it’s you. After a break, of course.”

And well, there’s nothing Seonghwa can really reply to that. He takes the last sip from his glass of wine, and pours both San and himself another one. 

“I’m sorry,” he starts instead. It feels like a suitable time to make amends; if he’s been honest tonight, might as well.

“For what?” San’s eyebrows raise. 

“For being so in love with the idea of leaving, and Seoul, and university, that I didn’t have room for much else. I certainly didn’t leave room for a proper goodbye, and especially for saying sorry for what I’ve put you through.” 

“Oh,” San’s mouth drops, clearly taken aback. “I… I get you? But I think… you might be too hard on yourself. You didn’t put me through anything.” 

“In high school? I didn’t? I was an asshole. To you and to others.”

“Well… to others. I never felt like you were an asshole to me.”

“How wasn’t I?”

“Uhm—“ San starts, and then stops himself. “I don’t think we’re people who beat around the bush. So I won’t. I’ll say what’s on my mind.” 

A shiver goes through Seonghwa. A slight one. 

“I… I genuinely always felt like you loved me. Even when you didn’t know it. Even when I didn’t know it, and I was an angsty teenager and wanted the crazy, romantic gestures, flowers on a cute restaurant date and holding hands on the street.” A nostalgic smile appears on San’s face, and Seonghwa thinks one is tugging at his lips as well. “We just couldn’t have that, and I got to understand that over time. It was fair to keep it a secret from everyone, and you never hurt me. You were always kind to me. If anything, I should be sorry for pushing you to something you weren’t comfortable with.”

“You didn’t. You never did. I needed to hear those things.”

“So see? It's none of us’ fault. I don't have any regrets,” San shrugs a shoulder, and smiles at Seonghwa. “I’m glad you’re back, hyung.” 

“Me too,” Seonghwa takes another sip from the wine glass. “Me too.”

“Want to head through the park?” San suggests when they walk out of the rundown building of the bar close to midnight, the night now fully fallen. The two glasses of wine and the good food settled pleasantly in Seonghwa; but more than that, the content feeling is because of their easy conversation, and how _light_ he feels around San now that the air is cleared. Mostly.

“Sure,” Seonghwa nods, and San takes him towards the park in the middle of their town through light conversation, hands folded around himself.

Despite it being almost summer, the pleasant but not cool breeze through the air, the park is almost entirely devoid of people, except the stray dog-walker. Seonghwa finds it strange that someone would walk their dog at midnight, but who is he to judge people’s schedules? 

San leads them across a path entirely too familiar to Seonghwa; he knows it goes to the small patch of grass hidden by bushes and a tree; he smiles. They had spent way too much time there in summer days and nights both, studying, reading, listening to music, sharing dreams and kisses alike. 

San steps through the bush that still bends, the only way in, holding Seonghwa’s hand to help him over. His pants’ stitching gets caught in a branch; he frees himself with a few hops of his legs, chuckling along with San at how he’s forgotten how to walk through it, clumsy.

“I come here often,” San almost-whispers in the silence, not letting go of Seonghwa’s hand until they get to their tree. 

The dumb, small _S+S_ engraving at its base is still there; Seonghwa crouches to see it. It has faded just the slightest bit; Seonghwa remembers his own back against the tree and San in his lap, pulling out a small knife from his bookbag, wrapped in tissue. He had gasped when he saw it, but stared at San’s tongue peeking out of his mouth while he engraved the small letters into the bark. When San was done, Seonghwa bent his head back to see it, and when he turned around, was met with San’s clumsy kiss on the corner of his mouth, and a way-too-eager tongue trying to sneak in-between his lips two seconds later. 

They had been young and stupid. 

Now, as Seonghwa gets up and is met with the sight of San, head tilted to the side, looking at him… he thinks they’re less young, but just as stupid. 

San takes one step, and then another step closer, the tips of their shoes touching, and puts his hands on Seonghwa’s waist, staring questioningly up at him. Seonghwa’s hands land on his shoulders, move up to hold the sides of his neck. 

“You won the game,” San murmurs, tipping his eyes up to look deeply into Seonghwa’s. “I owe you a kiss?” His confidence lilts into a question right at the end. Seonghwa’s tongue dips out over his bottom lip, small smile playing on his face. 

San tilts up. His lips are plush against Seonghwa’s own; Seonghwa’s eyes close of their own accord, enjoying the softness of the kiss akin to a breeze of warmth on his lips. When San presses more intently, Seonghwa tilts his head and allows his mouth to move instinctually against his, thumbs brushing the back of San’s jaw. 

San also pulls away. Seonghwa opens his eyes a second before he does, and gets to see the unfiltered, beautiful smile on San’s face. San’s eyes open to look into his. 

“Yes?”

Seonghwa lets his own lips curl up. “Yes.” 

It’s a terrible idea, all in all. San barely knows him, and he barely knows San anymore. 

But as San fits his hand in his and leans up to press another small kiss to his lips, it seems to matter very little. 

Because San makes him feel like he’s in high school again; or maybe how he should’ve been in high school. Free, careless, without any regrets. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! As you might have noticed, I turned this from 2 parts into 3 because this was getting too long (hope I won't have to split the ending chapter as well, but...) I hope you enjoy it, and please leave a comment if you have (or haven't, I guess), they're fuel for a writer's heart. <3

“I can’t believe we’re in our late twenties, people with jobs, and we still have to hook up in my car.”

Seonghwa chuckles at San’s revolted tone whispering protests in his hair. When he moves his leg San jostles in his lap in the passenger seat of his car, and pulls off from Seonghwa kissing down his neck, under the collar of his shirt.

“I can’t believe we both _still_ live with our parents and have to plan for it. This is like high school all over again, and not in the good, butterflies in my stomach kinda way,” San mumbles, and Seonghwa gently pushes him away using the hands on his hips to look at him. The mood is on the precipice of crumbling; Seonghwa’s legs are fully, entirely asleep, and the way something’s digging into him from the seat is surely going to bruise across his lower back. 

“Want to go home?” Seonghwa asks under San’s eyes looking pointedly down into his. 

“I want to suck your dick,” he pouts. “I’m like ten years too old to come in my pants again.”

“We can try the backseat,” he suggests instead, biting his lip up at San. He can’t say he’s too against the idea of getting blown right now. 

“And give you a concussion again? Hell no.” 

“I didn’t have a concussion,” Seonghwa laughs at San’s pout, reaching up to press a small kiss to the curve of his lips, taking his jutting bottom one between his own. San’s pout melts, slowly, until he’s kissing Seonghwa back with as much enthusiasm as before, his hands grabbing fistfuls of Seonghwa’s hair. San’s small whimper in his mouth when Seonghwa arches up heats something up in his stomach, making him grind up once, twice more into the hardness pressing against his abs.

San seems comfortable enough giving up his protests, traveling hands down from Seonghwa’s hair to his hips, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling the zipper. Seonghwa moans at the touch of San’s hand on his hard-on. He’s been turned on for so long, back from when San turned to him one hour before the restaurant closed and whispered a blunt, but way too effective _you look so hot today, I want you to ruin me_ in Seonghwa’s ear.

Seonghwa would also love to ruin San, thank you very much. Would love to take his sweet time taking San apart with his mouth, his hands, anything; San’s become a little devil from the sweet, innocent boy he knew in high school. (Even if he snorted when Seonghwa said that to his face.)

And so, they could get a hotel room for the night, but that requires explanations they’re not willing to give yet, and where is the fun in that?

To be fair, Seonghwa _is_ kind of enjoying this. Taking their time, the risqué, quick hook-ups in San’s car, kisses in their clearing at night that get just a bit too heated before Seonghwa pulls away. Just like high school, and yet so different now, since they have a lot of time to explore, and loads more patience to match. To tease.

Seonghwa returns the favor, tugging San’s sweatpants to his thighs and pulling his cock out of them, enjoying San’s little moan when he takes the both of them in his hand. San’s lips press against his own, not even kissing anymore, just breathing air into each other’s mouths as Seonghwa tugs at them, rough, too dry. San eventually turns around, bending his body to reach into the glove compartment for the bottle of lube he now permanently keeps in a small bag there. He comes back, drizzling the cool liquid over both of them, over Seonghwa’s hand, and they both hiss at the coldness and the feeling of finally comfortably sliding against each other.

San puts his hands on both sides of the headrest behind Seonghwa’s head, and bends down to take Seonghwa’s lips in his own for the slightest second. Seonghwa’s shirt disappears right after, tugged off his body and thrown in the driver’s seat as they separate and come back together, drawn like magnets. San sneaks his tongue in Seonghwa’s mouth, excited as always, eager as always; they tangle, and Seonghwa lets San lead the pace of the kiss, grinding almost desperately in his hand. 

“If I make a mess of you, you can’t blame me,” he whispers close to his ear, trembling just the slightest under the hand held tightly around his waist.

“You can make a mess of me,” he chuckles, lets go of himself to tug only at San instead. Watching San’s expression, he swipes his thumb on the underside of his head, tightens his grip until San comes with a whine, splattering come on Seonghwa’s stomach and chest and dribbling down his hand.

Seonghwa can’t take his eyes off of him when he does. San is stunning all the time, but the knit of his brows, his tightly-shut eyes, the lip bitten almost white in his mouth so he doesn’t make noise… Seonghwa could watch him over and over again, knowing that he is the one to give him this kind of pleasure. When San opens his eyes and catches Seonghwa looking at him…

He bats Seonghwa’s hand away from him, pulling it up to his lips and licking his own come off of Seonghwa’s fingers—he looks like _a devil,_ eyes boring deep into Seonghwa’s and he feels himself twitch, expecting something, anything, to be _touched._ And when San sucks his index and middle finger into his mouth, and Seonghwa can remember, place it to the feeling of San’s warm mouth enveloping something else instead, couple it with San’s hand tugging suddenly at him—

It’s no one’s fault he breaks, and comes with a loud moan that San widens his eyes at, quickly slamming a hand over Seonghwa’s mouth. His lips open in surprise, and Seonghwa can see his fingers laying prettily on San’s tongue, the chastizing remark in his eyes as his hand muffles him—Seonghwa _comes_ and _comes,_ making a mess out of both of them, adding to the the one already on his stomach. He breathes in when he’s spent, thumb dragging affectionately over San’s bottom lip, leaning up to kiss him when San drops his hand. 

Slow, soft, coming down from the heat of their orgasms. 

San rests his forehead against his when they break apart, eyes closed and panting breath. “Well… at least you didn’t come in your pants this time,” Seonghwa remarks, the come on his stomach drying slightly uncomfortably.

“Barely,” San whispers when his eyes open, and he reaches for the tissue between the seats. He wipes Seonghwa up first, as much as he can, and then their hands. And then he tries to tug Seonghwa’s shirt over his head, lifting an eyebrow when Seonghwa refuses to take his hands off his hips. “Don’t be bratty.” 

“What will you do?” Seonghwa sticks out his tongue. San suddenly ducking down to bite at it takes him entirely by surprise, echoing a yelp in the small space of their car. He tugs it between his lips to kiss Seonghwa, wet and open-mouthed, for just the briefest few seconds.

“I will bite,” he pulls back with a warning in his eyes. Seonghwa laughs, finally lets San pull his shirt over his arms and drop it on his frame, but he pulls San into him with a smirk right after he does, to get his revenge. San’s lips curve up into a smile on his. 

It is hard to let go of him. But it is also past 11 PM, and even if the parking lot right outside of the town is as empty now as when they drove in, Seonghwa knows his parents will start asking questions soon if he continues coming home late for all these nights in a row. 

Just like in high school; Seonghwa should be happy he doesn't have a curfew.

"Home?" San mumbles, and Seonghwa nods, steals one last kiss before he lets San climb out of his lap and through the passenger door into the warm night air. The breeze drifts over Seonghwa through the open door. San stretches, hands above his head, and his shirt rides up just the slightest, exposing a sliver of skin on his stomach. 

Seonghwa can't help it: he swipes at the free patch of skin, trying to tickle him, and San responds with a louder than needed yelp. Seonghwa grins. 

Joke is on him though, when San grabs his wrist and determinedly pulls him out of the car, stumbling to the side of it. 

And before he knows, his shoulder blades are pressed to the frame of the door, and San's hands are under his shirt, fitting in the curve of his waist. 

"You _are_ bratty," he tuts, and then dives in to kiss Seonghwa, insistent, heavy. 

_Fuck._

His hands tug at San's hair, pulling him away just the slightest. "Next time, maybe you can blow me like this, huh?" 

"With my knees on the concrete?" he ponders it for a second. "You have nerve. But maybe." 

Instead of responding, Seonghwa just kisses him again. The thought of San though, bruises on his knees, insistent on sucking him off even while kneeling on the concrete somehow... he wouldn't do it to him, but it's _hot._

_He's hot._

And objectively, Seonghwa thinks that of many people. Many people are hot. But San? 

San is _different_ hot. He’s been messing around with San for quite a while now, and he hasn’t even gotten to fuck him properly.

That could be a problem. But for now, it's just San.  


"Dear?" his mother passes by him, stopping in front of him at the kitchen table. 

"Yes?" Seonghwa looks up, probably not having heard what she said before.

"I asked what you were up to," she points at the drawing tablet. 

"Oh. I'm doing some digital drawing," he explains, turning the laptop to show her the girl in pigtails, a mask, and a skateboard he's currently working on. He's always preferred sketching on paper to digital, but that's less helpful to his job. Not that drawing the characters in his head is much more helpful, but alas.

It's a screen; should help somehow, that’s what Seonghwa tells himself. Keep the creative juices flowing and the hand used to drawing.

"Is that for one of those freelance jobs you've taken up?"

"No, this is just for me. I've finished the first sketch of my last project.”

"Is it helping?" she sits down in the chair opposite his. Seonghwa saves his project and drops the pen.

"With what?"

"Just in general." And he knows she is not just talking about the drawing, or whatever he is doing right at this moment.

He sighs; it is sort of hard to put into words, how he has felt recently. He doesn’t think he himself has taken enough time to think it through, but on the surface, there are some positive feelings swirling around that he is comfortable enough sharing.

"Doing some freelance stuff this past couple of weeks has definitely helped, yes." Doing _something_ has helped. Otherwise, Seonghwa would have fully gone insane by now. He's not used to the feeling of not doing anything, of just sitting around without earning his keep in some sort of way. 

He does need something to fill his time. Unfortunately, he’s never been one of those people who were content to do nothing for extended periods of time—he does not know what satisfaction is unless he's breaking his back for whatever he gets. 

And his mother seems to know too, that coming home without any sense of what's next is entirely unlike himself. Yet, neither she nor his dad, more surprisingly, are pressuring him into figuring anything out. Seonghwa is definitely grateful and unworthy of all of this.

"How's San?" she smiles, resting her head on her outstretched hand. 

"He's doing fine," Seonghwa answers. He hopes his face doesn’t show the memory of the heavy kiss San left him with yesterday, right before they walked out of his restaurant's storage room and into the evening air. "The restaurant's great."

"I'm glad you've found yourself with something to do, at least. He and his family are the sweetest. I met his grandma yesterday in the market."

A sense of _something_ , guilt, the _need_ to tell his mother tugs at his chest.

But that would be foolish. San and he are nothing. “And?"

"They put a lot of effort in that restaurant, I think they worked so hard. And I had to thank her for all the yummy food you come home with. She said you redesigned their menus and logo, and gave them so much art to hang around that they feel bad not paying _you_ instead."

"It was fun," Seonghwa chuckles. "I loved doing that." It took him like two weeks to do it in-between the freelance design projects he had just started, and keeping busy felt great. He works better tucked into a booth of their restaurant than he's worked anywhere else.

"I'm glad," she gets up and pulls Seonghwa's hair back, out of his face. "I should give you a haircut. Your hair's getting longer."

Seonghwa thinks of San pulling at it when he kisses Seonghwa, tucking it behind his ear, complimenting him on how hot it looks falling down his face, and shrugs. "At some point, maybe."

"It's already 10 PM," Seonghwa whispers to San tucked into his chest. The wind rustles the tree above, some stray leaves falling on both sides of them. 

The clearing is as peaceful as it has always been. On his back, Seonghwa looks up, and observes the stars that are just starting to appear on the dark blue sky. It's not fully night yet; it is just light enough for Seonghwa to make out San's eyelashes resting almost against his cheekbones if he looks down, the slight pout on his lips, the wind rustling the loose back of San's shirt. 

San only tightens his hand around his waist, cuddles closer. "So what?"

"Nothing. Just letting you know." 

It's hot, entirely too hot. Seonghwa feels sweaty as all gods in the June heat—it’s _way_ too warm for San to be attached to him like a koala, hand over his waist and leg thrown over his. But he doesn't have the heart to move San away. 

Somewhere further away, the chattering of what seems to be two girls gets as far as to them. The small clearing is more than well hidden by bushes and trees taller than anyone who might pass by, but Seonghwa waits nonetheless. To see if San will move, freeze up, what will he do? 

But San doesn't seem to care. And curiosity bubbles up in Seonghwa's chest. 

"Do you..." he starts, the hand under San's head playing with the hair at the back of his neck. "Do you care?"

"Care about what?"

"If people know."

"About us?"

"Mhm."

"No. Not at all. Never have, never will.”

Seonghwa hums. He does. 

He cares a lot. Still does. Maybe not as much here, but definitely in Seoul.

Always has, always will.

Sketching a draft for his newest project takes Seonghwa longer than he thought. He woke up at 7 AM to be done by 10, but when he looks at his laptop, it’s almost noon and he’s still not finished.

He turns his phone around on the kitchen table to stare at the clock, the only thing on his lockscreen. San still hasn’t texted him.

Seonghwa isn’t a paranoid person. Or at least he thinks he is not. But even so, San always texts him when he wakes up and before he heads in to work. Not for having made a point of it, but that is simply how their conversations go until San falls asleep and wakes up in the morning to respond.

So, nonetheless, there’s a tug of worry in his chest. He was not going to go in today, but he finds himself packing his laptop and his tablet anyway, and changing clothes to head in to the restaurant.

When he walks in, there is nobody at the entrance, and nobody hanging around either. The restaurant is packed for it being Friday and lunchtime, but there is no sign of Eunkyung, San, or his grandparents anywhere. He carefully heads to the kitchen as he sees even his booth is taken, and right when he almost opens the door, a frantic Eunkyung almost slams into him. 

“Oh, Seonghwa-oppa. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.” Seonghwa picks up two of the plates from her busy hands, and follows her to a table where she takes them from his hands and puts them down. Seonghwa follows her quick walk back to the kitchen. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Grandma and grandpa aren’t here today, so it’s just San and I.” 

For that many people in the restaurant? 

“How do I help,” Seonghwa asks, but it comes out more as a statement. 

“Oh, you don’t have to,” Eunkyung turns to stare at him right as she goes back into the kitchen. 

“Of course I do,” Seonghwa looks at the receipts stuck against the order wall. He can tell where table numbers are because of how many times he’s drawn the place. “I’ll pick them up and send them out, if you want to help San.”

And right then, San’s eyes turn to him from where he is checking on rice and frying something in a wok at the same time. “Seonghwa-hyung!”

“Seonghwa-oppa said he’ll help send the food out. If I can help with something here?”

San’s eyes widen towards Seonghwa. “Are you sure? You said you have that draft to finish, right?”

“I already finished it,” Seonghwa waves his hand, the lie coming out easily. San won’t let him help if he knows Seonghwa has something to do. 

And that is how Seonghwa finds himself running around in San’s restaurant on a Friday afternoon, hands brimming with dishes and bottles of water and beer. He has never seen teenagers’ drinking habits as a problem until today, after he has to clear five bottles of soju and seven of beer from a four-people table that doesn’t look older than 20 at 2 PM in the afternoon.

Seonghwa wasn’t like them… or well, maybe he was, but different. Acting up was different back in his time; instead of drinking, doing drugs, or staying out late, Seonghwa cut contact with everyone in his life except his parents (barely), moved 300 kilometers away, and pulled how many all-nighters in a row to graduate towards the top of his class.

“Seonghwa-oppa! Can you hand me that clipboard?” Eunkyung shouts at him throughout the now freer restaurant, and Seonghwa picks it up as he goes to the kitchen, breaking out of his thoughts.

His back _hurts_ when he walks back into the kitchen, he notices. Collapsing with his side against a wall, he turns to look towards San and Eunkyung. “How do you all do this for twelve hours a day? I’m _exhausted._ ”

“Practice,” San shrugs, handing Seonghwa two fried rice plates. “Chop chop, part-timer. Earn your keep.” 

Eunkyung chuckles behind her hand at Seonghwa’s overly dramatic groan, moving past him to head out again as Seonghwa follows her in and drops the fried rice plates at a table to the left. When he turns around, he sees Eunkyung at another table, eyes flitting up and down, looking slightly confused as a visibly upset customer emphatically gestures to her, getting uncomfortably close. 

Seonghwa immediately moves, joining her and interrupting the man. “Is there a problem?” Seonghwa asks politely, watching as one of the people at the table looks to be almost dying, face red and gulping water. “Can you get more water?” he whispers to Eunkyung, who immediately scrambles away. 

“Yes, there is a problem,” the other kid turns narrowed eyes to Seonghwa. He’s from Seoul, Seonghwa can tell. “Are you blind or just stupid?”

Seonghwa feels his blood freeze, his back straighten. His smile gets wider. 

“We asked for the spicy, not spiciest version of this, but this is ridiculous. My friend can’t eat spicy food well. Tell the chef that this is the worst _dakkbokkeumtang_ I’ve ever had.

“I apologize for the issue. We have six levels of spice for that dish, and you have chosen the fourth hottest one. Our dish was made as it always is; if it was not to your taste, I recommend choosing a less spicy version next time,” Seonghwa watches from the corner of his eye as Eunkyung pours water into the other man’s cup. “Please enjoy your food.”

And he walks away, sending Eunkyung walking to the front of him until the kitchen, when she turns back to head to the front. “Don’t tell San,” he tells her, sees her nod. San will blame himself if he hears the details.

He goes to San himself instead, approaches him while he’s cutting up some vegetables, puts a hand on the small of his back. “Just a heads up—there’s two people out there who might be trouble. Can I stand up against them or would you rather I let it go?”

“What kind of trouble?”

“They’re trying to get a free meal, probably.” 

“Oh, hell no then,” San turns his head towards him for a couple seconds with a displeased tug to his lips. “Do whatever you need. Call me if it’s an actual issue.”

“Won’t be,” Seonghwa takes his hand away with a slight squeeze to San’s hip.

As the restaurant has calmed down and there are few people left, he joins Eunkyung at the exit of the restaurant, where she takes the payment before people head out. And as he expected, the two men march up to her a couple minutes later. Seonghwa takes a quick look at the dishes on their table—almost empty. The _dakkbokkeumtang_ in the middle is the only one more than half full, but the meat is clearly picked out.

Subtly, Seonghwa steps out from next to Eunkyung, and stands between the two men and the door. They think they’ll intimidate her. Seonghwa crosses his arms over his chest and subtly lays his hip against the raised wall of the register.

“We refuse to pay for that meal. It was atrocious, and it almost killed my friend. Learn how to do better.”

“Please pay,” Seonghwa controls his tone into a perfectly plain one. He knows this kind of kids, who will visit restaurants in a row and try to wrangle free meals with made-up complaints or planted issues. These two are just incredibly stupid. 

Eunkyung sends Seonghwa a confused, slightly panicked look. Seonghwa sees it from the corner of his eyes, fixed on the kids in front of him. 

“I just told you, it—“

“Please pay,” Seonghwa repeats, interrupting him in the exact same tone. 

“I think you’re not hearing me, I said—“

“I heard you very well. Please pay.”

The man’s eyes waver, looking at his friend. They take a step towards him; Seonghwa extends an arm in front of him, blocking them. 

“Do not think that just because you do not live here you can come into a restaurant and act up.” Seonghwa’s mind runs through scenarios; who can he call back in Seoul if this becomes an actual issue? It isn’t the first time he heard of it, but these two have an inkling of fear creeping into their eyes now, which tells Seonghwa it likely won’t rise to be. “Please pay for the meal you just had out of respect for the people working to keep this restaurant functioning. And please reconsider the things that you are doing, for whatever purpose you might be doing them.”

Begrudingly, one of them takes out his wallet with a displeased sigh. Seonghwa hopes they actually have money, extending a leg out to fully block the way in case they try to dash.

The card goes through. The little receipt comes out and Eunkyung hands it back to them. 

Seonghwa pulls his leg back and flattens his back against the wall next to the register. He presses the button for the automatic door and it opens; the two men walk out past Seonghwa staring at him, and Seonghwa holds their gaze until they’re down the street. 

That’s when Seonghwa turns around to Eunkyung, whose eyes are still wide. “Hey, Eunkyung-ah, where are the CCTV recordings from the restaurant?”

“In San-oppa’s laptop, I think.” 

“Great, I’ll talk to him later.”

Seonghwa pulls out his phone instead, and opens his texts with Yunho. _‘Yunho-ya, I have a favor to ask. Do you think you can contact that guy you used when I had the issue at work? I need him to find me two people.’_

Just to be sure. Seonghwa would hate to find a brick or anything worse through the window of San’s restaurant. 

“What… what did you do?” Seonghwa’s eyes widen as San approaches him in front of Wooyoung and Yeosang’s wine bar. 

“Do you not like it?” The smile tugging at San’s lips slowly deflates, clearer and clearer as he approaches Seonghwa. The lights from the main street are the only thing illuminating the small alley behind it, but Seonghwa notices the pout on San’s lips as his finger reaches to tug at his newly-dyed hair. 

“No, I like it. I like it a lot,” Seonghwa takes a step forward to brush his hand through San’s fluffy hair. The streak of white falls back into place amongst the rest of his newly dark brown hair when he lets go. “It suits you really well.”

“My mom called it an angsty teenager look when I called her.” 

San sounds entirely unaffected, but something in Seonghwa cringes. He doubts San’s relationship with his parents has changed much since high school, as this is the first San’s mentioned them since Seonghwa’s come back. 

“Well, it kind of is,” he chuckles, resting his hand on San’s jaw, the tips of his fingers tickled by the ends of San’s hair. “That doesn’t mean it doesn’t look amazing on you.”

San’s bottom lip, worried between his teeth, catches Seonghwa’s attention. “Can I kiss you?”

Seonghwa looks around. It’s completely silent. Very few people come to the dark, inconspicuous alleyway, and Seonghwa especially doubts the people who come to Wooyoung and Yeosang’s wine bar would care. Seonghwa takes one more step and slots his lips against San’s, his hand moving to the side of San’s neck to pull him in. 

They kiss for just maybe a few seconds—sweet, but with a touch of desperation, an edge to their eagerness. San rests his hands on Seonghwa’s chest and follows the feeling of his lips when Seonghwa pulls away with the slightest sound marking their separation. That and a soft sigh coming from San. 

San drops his head in Seonghwa’s shoulder. “I missed you today,” he mumbles in the material of Seonghwa’s shirt.

“I didn’t come for a day.”

“I know.” 

Seonghwa laughs, fiddling with the hair on the back of San’s neck, tugging at a few strands. Whoever dyed it did a good job. “Let’s go up?”

“Mhm,” San nods, and doesn’t let go of Seonghwa. Seonghwa gives San time, waits until San pulls his hands away and tucks one into Seonghwa’s, to squeeze it for just a second before he lets go and enters the apartment building, bounding up the dark stairs.  
Seonghwa follows with an affectionate shake of his head. He gets to see the professional, smiling San at work multiple hours a day, so the moments when San lets go when he’s just with Seonghwa to be the pouting, clingy version of himself are incredibly endearing.

They have their own table in the back here as well, next to the window. Like always, Wooyoung waves them down to it with a smile and bounds to them with a menu. 

Every time, San gets them something different. Wooyoung or Yeosang will recommend them something new, or something they haven’t tried yet, and will bring them way more snacks than they should. With a glass of wine in his hand and his back against the wall, Seonghwa turns to San when he makes a noise like he remembered something.

“You know, I was talking to Eunkyung today when two girls came in, looked around, and then looked _disappointed—_ I think you being around so often, looking like a supermodel, is starting to attract more customers.” 

“Really?” Seonghwa laughs, leaning over to San across the table just the slightest with an endeared smile on his face. “And you looking like any teenager’s wet dream on legs has nothing to do with it? There were many customers before I came, I bet.” 

“Do you think so?” 

“Absolutely. And with that hair now? Just you wait.” 

San pouts, but an inkling of a smile is tugging at his lips too. “Three kids walked out of the restaurant today and told me I looked like an ‘eboy.’ What even is that?” 

“It’s from an app,” Seonghwa chuckles and pulls out his phone. “Let me show you.” 

“How do _you_ know what that is?”

“I work in marketing and advertising, Sannie. This is literally my job. I have to know all these apps and trends.”

Seonghwa opens TikTok on his phone, and a minute later, turns the phone to San to show him the various videos. San’s expression is priceless, to say the least, halfway between surprise and laughter. 

“I don’t look like them! Do I?” 

“It’s the hair. The white hair stripe is a really popular look right now on it, I guess,” Seonghwa locks his phone and puts it away, looking back up to find mirth swimming in San’s eyes. Whatever San saw, thought, felt, Seonghwa feels it like a knot in his throat.

It’s so easy to let go with San. So easy for Seonghwa to block out thoughts of any kind, positive and negative both.

“Hmm... Sannie,” Seonghwa starts, drumming his fingers on the table, “are you free this weekend?”

“Why?” 

“Let’s go on a trip.” 

“Mom, dad, just so you know, I’m heading out this Friday for the weekend.”

“What for?” his father asks, peeling the potatoes his mother must’ve asked him to. 

“For a trip to Busan.”

“By yourself?” his mother turns around to ask him, a mischievous glint in her eyes. 

“Uhm, no. With San. We just want to go to the beach,” he justifies, and feels _seen._ But he doesn’t ponder on it; it would be stupid to. 

“Have fun then. Be careful.” 

That Friday morning, Seonghwa gets a one-way train ticket to Seoul. Half-empty suitcase trailing behind, he travels through the corridor of the train to find his seat next to the window, AirPods in his ears, an episode and then another of a podcast passing the time as Seoul gets closer and closer. 

When he steps off the train, it wouldn’t be wrong to say that the air feels different. Maybe it’s the fine dust, or maybe it’s the chaos—the frenzy, the lightning pace of everyone hurrying along next to him. Everyone going somewhere, with a purpose. Seonghwa feels like the lead in a music video, stuck in slow-motion in the center of the shot while everyone turns into shadows of themselves around. 

He picks up his suitcase and goes up the escalator to the main level train station. Picking up a taxi, he gives his address absentmindedly to the driver, watching out of the window as the sight of Seoul passes in front of him. Seoul Station, the markets, the Han River as they cross it and head into Gangnam. 

The sight of his apartment building, its towering height, is quite something. Seonghwa walks in to the greeting of the doorman, who gets up and bows. Seonghwa smiles and bows in return.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning. I was not made aware you would be returning today—should I have arranged a car?” 

“No, don’t worry,” Seonghwa waves him off, smiling at the man’s kindness; he’s always been nice to Seonghwa. “It was an impromptu decision. I returned just for a day.”

“Alright. It’s good to see you well. I wish you a safe trip back.” 

“Thank you,” Seonghwa bows his head again and takes the elevator to the second floor. His fear of heights wouldn’t let him live anywhere higher. Plus, views are highly overrated anyway. 

Stepping out of it and to the right, his legs take him to the front of his apartment. Muscle memory, still alive and well after more than two months of being gone; pressing the key fob to the door and watching it open is an experience. 

His apartment is just as he left it. It was stupid to expect otherwise—not everything has moved on while he was gone. A quick run through shows him no leaks, no lights forgotten, nothing out of place. Seonghwa opens the door to his bedroom and drags his suitcase through. The sliding door to his walk-in closet opens smoothly as he steps in, suitcase in tow, picking up some more summer clothes. A few more shirts, a few more pairs of loose slacks, jeans, two more pairs of sunglasses, a couple watches, some more pairs of shoes. 

And then he steps towards the shelves on his right, and picks up some more of his _other_ outfits. A couple of silk shirts, one pair of black jeans which he knows stick to his legs just so—if they still fit him after two months of his mother and San’s cooking; not even daily runs could save him. His leather jacket, even though it seems stupid in this heat, some jewelry, some chokers. 

From a drawer below, one of the small boxes that have been unopened for months. Seonghwa opens the one on top since he barely remembers what’s in it—the few metal cock rings, the two small vibrators, the couple of leather collars easily disguised as chokers, the leash that fits through the center metal ring of one, the silk ties and blindfolds, the mouth gag. He closes it—wonders where to put it. 

If it would be useful, or if it is presumptuous of him to think so. 

He ends up putting it back—he doubts he will end up needing it. He doubts they’ll ever even have the chance to reach that far. 

So he walks out of his closet and back into his bedroom, suitcase zipped and ready to go. From the hanging organizer next to his door, he picks up the car key somehow unfamiliar in his hand. Admittedly, it’s not like he drove his Aston Martin to work really every day, more like on weekend trips by himself when he needed to see nothing but the road, but two months… is a long time. 

His phone rings right when he picks it up. Seonghwa taps his earphones to answer.

_“Seonghwa! Where are you?”_

“Just leaving home. Why are you so impatient?” 

_“I can’t believe you’re giving me half an hour to eat lunch with you and you are going to be late for it,”_ Hongjoong’s voice filters through his ears, distracting Seonghwa from the pang in his chest when the heavy door closes behind him. He heads to the elevator trying to not think any of it. 

“I won’t be late. It’s a 10-minute drive to your workplace,” he checks his watch, “it’s 15 to. Relax.” 

_“I know, I’m just bored. And drive? You’re taking your baby out of her cage?”_

Seonghwa gets to the underground parking lot, heading to his spot. The black paint on his Aston shines even with the fluorescent lights above. 

“That’s what I came to Seoul for,” he chuckles. 

_“Aww, so not to see me and Yunho? Well I guess just me, since you picked one of the only times this month Yunho is on a business trip to come up.”_

His car opens when Seonghwa presses the button—it feels like a greeting from an old friend, a welcome. 

“Of course it’s to see you, Hongjoongie.” And then he steps in, sits down on the leather seat that still moulds perfectly to his body—Hongjoong’s low chuckle filters through his ears. 

Hongjoong’s laugh takes Seonghwa back to nine months ago, a week or so after he broke up with Yunho, when Hongjoong held his trembling left hand as Seonghwa signed the contract for his car with his right. Not even finding out Hongjoong went home and fucked Yunho for the first time that very same night, after the little party Seonghwa threw to celebrate, could ever damper that happiness.

Especially now, as Seonghwa is ready to make new memories. 

_“Enjoy. See you in ten.”_

Seonghwa laughs after Hongjoong hangs up, some good number of mixed emotions running through him as he snaps his earphones into their case and puts the phone in its holder and finally… _finally_ presses that glass button in the middle of the console and hears the muted roar of a tamed feline under the hood. 

He felt like he _made it_ back then, those nine or so months ago. Free and single, unbound, disconnected from it all, spending a little more than 100 million won by signing 60 months of his life away for this shiny beast that made no sense, and still doesn’t—which guzzles fuel and money, but gives him back that happiness, that sense of achievement every time he stands behind the wheel, presses the accelerator, and dashes away in the sunset. Because he can _afford it._ It’s _his._

That is what it feels like, every single time—these are the moments Seonghwa lived, _lives_ for.

He pulls out of the parking lot, leaving his apartment building behind to drive to the Subway next to Hongjoong’s building, where they always meet for lunch if they do. It’s been their thing ever since they were in their suits once and a kid touched Hongjoong’s shoulder and told them that they look like a couple in one of those dramas sponsored by Subway. Plus, this one adds a lot of meat and vegetables, and Seonghwa is fond of his Italian BMT.

Hongjoong is waiting on the corner as Seonghwa parks his car in an alleyway next to the Subway and steps out, sunglasses on his eyes. 

“I hate you so much,” Hongjoong greets him, and Seonghwa chuckles, wrapping an arm around his shoulder as they head in.

“I haven’t gotten to do that in more than two months. Spare me.”

In here, Seonghwa feels truly at home. Not in the Subway necessarily, but in Seoul, reunited with his most prized possession, meeting Hongjoong like this is an ordinary day—like slipping back into a comfortable persona. It’s powerful—it would be foolish to say he doesn’t miss it. 

Sandwich in hand, Hongjoong doesn’t spare Seonghwa two seconds of peaceful eating to hit him with the questions. 

“You know, when you called me and told me you’ll have lunch with me, I thought you were coming back.”

“No. Not quite yet.” 

“Not quite yet?” Hongjoong’s raised eyebrow makes Seonghwa hum a noise of uncertainty, and maybe slight annoyance.

“I don’t know, Hongjoong. If I did, I’d tell you,” his tone drops for just the slightest. Hongjoong reads the warning, recognizing it’s not something Seonghwa wants to talk about.

“Please tell me you’re at least getting some.” 

Seonghwa raises an eyebrow himself, smirk playing on his face. “What answer do you want to hear to that?”

_“No,”_ Hongjoong laughs, coming closer like this is particularly good gossip. Seonghwa guesses it is. “Don’t tell me you’re hooking up with your high school sweetheart.”

“Again, what answer do you want to hear to that?”

“I cannot believe you, that is _gold._ And…? Is that it?”

“Mmm,” Seonghwa replies. “Is it fair to say I haven’t really thought much?”

One second of silence, and Hongjoong takes another bite of his sandwich, putting it down. “You look happier. I told you that’s what you need.” 

“Hongjoong…” Seonghwa catches the edge to Hongjoong’s words, and squashes it right away. “Stop.”

Hongjoong nods, absentmindedly for a couple of seconds, and then smaller and smaller, until his eyes are fully back on Seonghwa. “Okay. But you know I’m happy for you.”

“I know.”

“So… is he any good then?” he drops his volume, joining it with a half-smirk to one corner of his lips. 

“He’s great. In all the possible ways,” Seonghwa smiles. 

Expectedly, Hongjoong doesn’t let him leave until Seonghwa’s shared all the details he is willing to, and they both urgently have to leave. Hongjoong walks him to his car, and in absolutely not Hongjoong fashion, hugs him before Seonghwa gets in. 

“I can’t believe we talk weekly and you never told me about him,” Hongjoong lets go of Seonghwa and pulls back, looking up at him.

“I didn’t really want to,” Seonghwa opens his car door and lays against it, smiling at Hongjoong. “I’ll tell you everything from now on.”

“You better,” Hongjoong punches him lightly in the arm. “We miss you.”

“Me too, Hongjoong-ah. Me too. I miss you all as well.”

After a short trip home, packing his smaller suitcase, he parks in the alleyway next to San’s restaurant and walks in, the doorbell he’s so used to ringing his arrival. Seonghwa puts his sunglasses up on his head, holding his hair back, and smirks as San catches sight of him and walks over. 

“Give me five minutes?” San comes just a tad too close to whisper, and Seonghwa nods, resisting the _what if_ thought to lean in and kiss him in view of the full restaurant. 

San bounds away, and Eunkyung takes his place behind the register, hanging out as Seonghwa leans on the front of the divider. 

“So... San-oppa told me you’re going to Busan.” 

“We are, for the weekend. I just really wanted to go the beach and San volunteered to come with me because he hasn’t gone in years as well,” Seonghwa explains, watching as a smile plays on her lips. 

“Seonghwa-oppa... maybe it’s not my business, and I hope you don’t take this the wrong way,” she pauses, comes just the slightest bit closer before she drops her tone, for a modicum of secrecy. “San-oppa’s been much happier since you came. I think it helps for him to have someone who pulls him out of the hard work he puts in this. Someone who’s consistently here with him and understands this, but who’s not me or his grandparents, or some of his other friends. I think you can see that too, but... I just wanted to tell you anyway.” 

“Thank you, Eunkyung,” Seonghwa smiles, knowing that it must’ve not been easy for her to say this. It’s endearing, how much she looks up to San—and how well she’s able to read between the lines without the prejudice that others might have.

San approaches him right after, duffel bag on his shoulder. 

“Ready?” Seonghwa asks, and San nods, turning to Eunkyung. 

“Sorry to leave this all on you for the weekend. Grandma said Seohee is coming to help as well, right?” 

“Yes, Seohee said she needs some hours anyway, so maybe she’ll start coming more regularly too if we need her,” she turns to Seonghwa, and then to San. “Don’t think about any of this, okay? You deserve a break. Have fun!” and she shoos them out of the door, San watching for the slightest second as it closes behind him. 

When he turns back to Seonghwa, it’s with a blinding smile. “Let’s get out of this town.”

Seonghwa laughs, feeling the taste of freedom already on his tongue as he leads San to the back. Right when they turn the corner, he hears San’s surprised noise behind him. 

“Oh, that is a nice car. Wonder whose it is, I’ve never seen it—“

Seonghwa takes the key out of his pocket and presses the button—he watches San as the soft noise signifies it’s unlocked. “It’s mine.”

_“Holy shit.”_ San stops, mouth gaping open as he looks between Seonghwa and the car. “I figured out you were well-off now, but I didn’t know you were _rich_ rich.”

“I’m not, just massively in debt.” Sort of. Working almost full-time throughout most of college, and then entering one of the highest-paying firms in the industry definitely had its perks. 

“Can I… go in?”

“Yeah. Give me your bag,” Seonghwa takes San’s bag and puts it in the boot alongside his suitcase, opening his door and stepping in right as San buckles his seatbelt.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever been in,” he whispers. “Did you go to Seoul to get it or… was it here?”

“Yeah, I went up today. It was so much fun driving back. Relaxing,” he smiles and hands his phone to San. “Feel free to pick the music.”

As San scrolls through his phone, Seonghwa presses the button and lets it roar to life; San’s soft gasp from next to him makes laughter bloom in his chest. He doesn’t pretend it doesn’t make him feel something—the act of bringing this back, San in it. Like his two worlds are meeting, somehow in the same place, in some sort of strange, unsettling harmony that makes him feel excited.

Or it’s maybe the act of finally going somewhere nobody knows them. Seonghwa lays his arm on the armrest as he drives down the highway to Busan and feels San’s fingers hesitantly tangle in his. Seonghwa switches his hand so it faces up, so San’s hand is more comfortable on his, and tightens his fingers in his to the soundtrack of a random English pop song. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by: Strange Land, by 88rising, NIKI, and Phum Viphurit. Feel free to listen to it on repeat if you'd like; it's the best song for this! <3

Seonghwa thinks he did well choosing a corner suite with a great view for their hotel room. The separate living room with a couch and a large TV has massive, almost floor-to-ceiling windows on two walls, revealing a large expanse of sand and sea below them when they face the TV, and the hills of Busan somewhere to their left when they turn. 

“This is too much,” San turns to him, jaw dropped and hands awkwardly reaching out to Seonghwa. Seonghwa takes them in his and wraps them around his neck, pulling San into him for an easy, soft kiss, until San melts until he’s the one pushing for more, trying to deepen the kiss.  
Seonghwa pulls away, regretfully, because if they continue, they’ll miss their dinner. 

And he has plans. 

“It’s not. I think we deserve it, don’t we?”

So he sends San to shower so they don’t miss their reservation, putting on his own button-up shirt and a pair of black slacks when he showers right after. He thinks he looks quite good, but when he walks out of the bathroom and sees San wearing the tightest pair of jeans known to man and a flowy, navy linen shirt tucked into them in the front, Seonghwa almost says fuck it to the reservation in favor of pushing San onto the bed and _ravaging_ him. 

Thankfully, he has some self-control, enough to close his mouth and take San’s hand, whispering to him how gorgeous he is and hearing the sharp intake of breath when he does. He can tell they’re both on some sort of edge—just close enough to topple into something else. Seonghwa grins behind his other hand when San pulls him to the door and out, because to say this is fun is an understatement—this careful game of back and forth, of how far they can push before pretenses collapse and they get to pick at the things that hide behind. 

Soon, maybe. Until then, San lets go of his hand and Seonghwa presses too close in the elevator, his breath tickling down San’s neck, hand resting on his lower back until they step out. All the way to the restaurant, Seonghwa’s hand brushes San’s on instances, pulling right away after. 

At the restaurant, San gets his revenge. While Seonghwa orders the wine to come with their set menus, Seonghwa feels a slight touch to his ankle, traveling up his calf. 

_Oh._ So that’s how he wants to play. 

Seonghwa puts his head in his hand and smiles at San when the waiter leaves, changing the topic of conversation to an entirely random one, entirely unphased. He can tell when confusion starts flittering across San’s features, when he understands Seonghwa is playing unaffected, looking at San with that half-smirk on his lips. 

There’s a heat in San’s eyes, but he plays nice—for a little bit, until the food comes, and Seonghwa suddenly feels the brush of an ankle over his inner knee, sneaking up his thigh; barely holding back from twitching in his seat from the surprise, his eyes turn to San, sending a veiled warning—that goes completely ignored, San’s ankle traveling up further and further up his inner thigh, hidden by the draped tablecloth. 

Only when the waiter is gone does Seonghwa reach under, and grips San’s ankle in a tight grip, smoothing his thumb over the skin. San drops it, but not without a small smile; Seonghwa’s stomach flutters just the slightest, the need to _ravish_ San making itself more and more known through the feeling running down his arms, prodding him to reach over, touch.

San doesn’t pull anything else all throughout dinner; truthfully, their conversation and San’s critique of their dinner distracts Seonghwa from most of the thoughts brimming under the surface. When San has a few choice words about a dessert, Seonghwa lets out a louder laugh than he should, getting the attention of patrons around them. He puts his hand over his mouth too late—by then, San’s smile, proud of the reaction he elicited in Seonghwa maybe, has had time to spread all over his face and reach his pretty eyes—and Seonghwa wants nothing more than to reach over the table and hold his hand. 

But he holds back, smiles a private grin at him and leads San out with a hand on his lower back after paying. 

Back at the front of the hotel, Seonghwa turns to San. “Can you do me a favor?” he quickly asks, seeing San narrow his eyebrows.

“What is it?”

“Can you… wait here for a second?”

And San’s expression turns just the littlest bit confused, almost _hurt._ Seonghwa beats himself over it, but looks at San until he nods, hesitantly. 

“Thank you,” he breathes out, heading to the elevator and to their room. Taking out the bottle of champagne out of his suitcase and placing it in the ice bucket on the nightstand, he plugs his phone in the stereo system, putting on the sensual, slow playlist he had prepared from before, and walks out, remembering to take the keycards with him as he heads back down. 

San is on his phone in front of the hotel when Seonghwa touches his arm, getting San’s eyes on him. He melts; _barely,_ just barely holds back from wrapping San up in his arms and kissing the air out of him right here, on the beach, in front of _everyone_ watching.

But he can’t. So instead, he pulls gently on San’s free hand until San wordlessly drops his phone and follows Seonghwa to their room, walking next to him. Despite himself, there is the slightest tug of nervousness in Seonghwa’s chest as they approach the door to their room. What if he exaggerated? What if… San won’t like it? What if he got this all wrong, and this is purely _friendly?_

Well, maybe that one is an exaggerated worry. Seonghwa swipes the keycard over the door and opens it, letting San walk in first. 

“What…” San’s noise of confusion sends a thrill to Seonghwa’s chest, who pulls him to the bedroom. Where San gasps, hands flying up to cover his mouth. “Seonghwa-hyung!”

“Is that… good?” 

San quickly turns around, hands thrown around Seonghwa’s neck, and suddenly kisses him with a press of lips so heavy it makes Seonghwa’s chest burst with excitement.

“This is the cutest thing, I’m just… I have no words,” he whispers. “Why… why all this though?”

Seonghwa’s eyes turn to the bed, to the rose petal heart; the music is smoothly flowing through the room, lamp lit up just enough to give the softest light, the night views of the beach to their left absolutely breathtaking. 

And then to San, who makes the whole view.

“I… kind of wanted to make up for our actual first time.” 

San looks into his eyes for one second. Just one, and then breaks out into loud, almost squeaky laughter, hands around Seonghwa’s neck, head dropping in the crook of his elbow. “What?”

“Are you still hung up on that?” San resurfaces, still chuckling at the expression on Seonghwa’s face. 

“It was terrible,” Seonghwa complains, reaching out a hand to cover his face, but San takes it away. 

“It wasn’t that bad.”

Seonghwa lifts an eyebrow. “I came after _maybe_ ten seconds, got nervous, and choked so bad when I tried to suck you off that I actually had to go get water. And I almost caught your skin in my braces. I think that was pretty bad.” 

“It was the first time for both of us,” San pushes a strand of hair out of Seonghwa’s face from where he messed it up with his hand. “You didn’t hurt me, you were patient and sweet, and then you made me come anyway. More than I can say about most of the sex I’ve had since then.” 

Seonghwa tries not to fixate on the implications of that statement. “That’s…”

“A shame, I know,” San waves a hand, dismissive, and when his eyes burn into Seonghwa’s, he feels just a bit overwhelmed by the intensity in them. He drops his tone, coming just a step closer, until their lips are almost brushing. “And then there was a year of fantastic sex. Can you blame me then, for not being able to forget about you for so long?”

Well, _damn._

“San-ah…”

“But, I mean…” San smirks, “are you going to make it up to me now, or…?”

Well, that Seonghwa _can do._ He tightens his hands on San’s waist, pulling him into his lips with a large inhale, kissing him as much as he wanted to throughout their entire date. Throughout the entire time he’s been back and had to stare at the full arch of San’s lips without being able to do much—to do anything, sometimes. 

San kisses him with that same intensity, like he wants to _devour_ Seonghwa whole, pressing up on his tiptoes to _push_ and _take._

The walls crumble. They were held together by little anyway, the thinnest of threads, willpower long gone. It’s been so long that the slightest touch of San’s hands traveling through his hair makes Seonghwa moan in anticipation, pressing San into the roses strewn on the bed, messing them up—fitting, since they aren’t the poster boys of romance anyway. 

Kneeling into the bed, he moves to straddle San’s thighs, smirking when San’s hands attach themselves to his stomach under his shirt, grabbing to pull Seonghwa down to him and back into his lips. Needy, quick, San pushes the button-up over Seonghwa’s head, not even bothering to undo the buttons, and takes off his own shirt as well, thrown carelessly over the lamp on the side of the bed. 

“Shouldn’t we take it slower?” Seonghwa whispers on San’s lips, words almost interrupted by San’s bite to his bottom lip, pulled tight between his teeth. It _hurts_ , and Seonghwa starts to get it.

“No. We can take it slow another time,” he breathes out, tone pitched high and needy.

And well, Seonghwa is by far not one to mind. Not when San thumbs the button of his slacks, wrapping a hand around the outline of Seonghwa’s cock through his briefs. San doesn’t play—Seonghwa should have figured. 

Whatever San wants, San gets. He is starting to understand that’s how it goes. 

So he lets San take the lead instead and kneel between his legs, taking off the slacks which quickly get thrown to the ground somewhere behind them. San’s jeans go right after; Seonghwa gets to enjoy the show of San pulling them down his legs, of the flashes of red from his tight underwear. 

When he laughs, San turns to him with a raised eyebrow. “What’s so funny?”

“Red?” Seonghwa laughs, beckoning San back to straddle him, tangling their hands at his side.

“I didn’t plan for this to happen,” San pouts, and Seonghwa only laughs harder. 

“You didn’t?” 

“Okay, maybe I figured it would.”

San swallows the last remainders of Seonghwa’s laugh, swipes his tongue into his mouth, as insistent as before, both hands tangled with Seonghwa’s to the side. When he bends down, their cocks brush through their underwear, San’s small whimper drawing into a pitched, desperate breath.

“Want me to fuck you?” Seonghwa teases between presses of their lips; San punishes him by biting his bottom lip once more.

“I’ve wanted it from the first time you walked into the restaurant in that stupid outfit. I saw you and swore to myself that I’d get your dick in me again, _please.”_ Seonghwa smirks at the way the words flow from San’s lips, unashamed and unbothered. He would’ve never figured that San would be like this. Seonghwa took him for more of the sweet, loving kind—but from the first time San blew him a few weeks ago and took Seonghwa all the way down his throat from the first try, he figured that isn’t the case. 

It certainly isn’t the case now, with San burying whines in his mouth as they grind against each other, kisses filthy and intense. Seonghwa grips San’s waist and spurs him on, chuckling when San’s breath turns just so on the side of desperate. That’s when Seonghwa takes mercy, and switches them back around to kneel between San’s legs, lips dragging down San’s jaw, to his neck and down, biting shallow marks on his chest, right above his stomach. The red marks disappear after a couple of seconds, fading back into San’s pale skin; Seonghwa wants nothing more than to bite them deeper, mark San all over.

“Seonghwa-hyung…” 

“Mmm?”

“Please don’t tease me. I don’t think I can take it right now.” 

In that moment, San’s tone is so raw that Seonghwa has to pull back and watch the intense feelings playing in his eyes. Hands reverently drag down San’s body, hold his small waist. “What do you want?”

“You in me.” 

Just like that, Seonghwa gets reminded again of who San is—the picture of duality. So forward, and yet able to be so vulnerable at the same time—the perfect mix of emotions and _lust_ , all wrapped up in the best package. 

_Fuck_ , he wants to ruin San. Positively ruin him, make him feel exactly what San makes him feel with those eyes of his.

He bounds off the bed and to his suitcase, to the bag where he has what they need. And when he turns back… he stops, jaw dropped at the picture of San laying on the bed of red roses, slowly tugging at himself, lip bitten in his mouth and eyes fixed on Seonghwa. 

“San-ah…” San only spreads his legs, bending his knees to put his feet flat on the bed, welcoming Seonghwa back to him. Seonghwa wastes no time taking off his underwear, dropping the lube and condoms somewhere on the bed to kneel over San and kiss him _breathless._

“How are you so stunning?” Seonghwa pulls off, sliding a hand down San’s stomach to wrap around his cock, watching as San bites his lip in his mouth and arches up in his touch. Showing off. “You’re so pretty.”

“You think I’m pretty?” San whispers up at him, again so raw and honest, that Seonghwa doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

“You’re the prettiest.” Kisses to San’s inner thigh, Seonghwa looks at San’s eyes fixed on him, and takes his hand away to find the lube, drizzle a bit down with his fingers. “Can I touch you?” 

“Yes. Yes please,” San nods, lifting his hips up when Seonghwa slides a pillow under them, to make San more comfortable as he puts the bend of one of his knees over his elbow and slides a finger in him, slow and careful.

The intensity of before fizzles away as Seonghwa focuses on San’s expressions, the little scrunches of his eyes and curves of his open lips as Seonghwa slides another finger in him, as slow and deep. And San looks so gorgeous just like this, hands at his sides gripping the comforter, back arched in Seonghwa’s grip. 

He is pretty. Pretty in that way that makes Seonghwa almost feel like he’s _ruining_ him, if only he didn’t know that San is by far not innocent, that he has that dark side he doesn’t seem to want to hide from Seonghwa. He tightens around Seonghwa’s fingers, just the slightest when he pushes in deeper, crooking them up; he trembles when Seonghwa twists his hand and teases another one at his rim, eyes snapping open when he slides it in, letting the loudest moan fall from his lips. 

He’s so open. So, so trusting; Seonghwa watches his fingers disappear in him, over and over again, feels the way San relaxes for him, eager. 

One day, he’s going to make San come like this. Worship his body like he deserves, press kisses all over his skin and slide his fingers into him over and over again, until San is a trembling mess under him, unable to hold back tears. 

One day. Because in this one, San grips Seonghwa’s wrist and stills his moving hand, opening big eyes to him. “That’s enough, please.” 

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

As he slips a condom on himself and drizzles more lube down his cock, Seonghwa thinks San doesn’t only mean _this._

Nonetheless, San’s knees around his elbow, Seonghwa slides home inch by maddening inch. San’s eyes stare him down, mouth opening more and more with every little bit, eyebrows furrowed in a mix between pain and pleasure.

_Fuck_. Seonghwa pushes in the littlest bit left and tries to not even _think_ about how he’s inside San, finally, how it’s San who has his arms wrapped around his neck and whose skin is under Seonghwa’s lips as he moves up and catches San’s lips in his to distract him. Maybe distract himself too before his mind goes spinning—but San seems to be entirely too good at making those thoughts disappear with tight hands now wrapped in Seonghwa’s hair, his favorite place to be, and lips pressing under Seonghwa’s ear. 

“I’m good,” San whispers, barely audible, and Seonghwa presses just a bit deeper. Pulls out the slightest and slowly pushes back into San, slow to make sure San is really ready, not just impatient. But San just lets out a tiny little whine, tightening his fingers in Seonghwa’s hair. 

“Feels good?”

“Feels great,” San whines, his lips close to Seonghwa’s ear traveling the breathy words right into it. At San’s confirmation, he pulls out just a little more and sets a slow rhythm. San is _so tight_ , so ridiculously tight that Seonghwa is way more careful than he’d ever be not to hurt him. 

Precautions never hurt. They’re surely not going to hurt now, when San seems to want more than he can take, spurring Seonghwa on with little whines in his ears. But Seonghwa just builds the pace slowly, sliding in and out of San, feeling every inch of him gripping at his cock when he pushes back in. 

“Harder,” San demands.

“Harder?” 

“Yes. Fuck me for real,” San moves his head until Seonghwa is forced to look into his eyes.

And what he sees there… 

He fucks into San just a little bit faster, a little bit harder, with that little punch behind his thrusts that immediately gets San moaning and arching up in his touch. _“Yes, Seonghwa-hyung…”_

His name sounds so pretty on San’s lips that Seonghwa can’t help but give him what he wants, letting go of his thighs to grip his waist and fuck into San faster, harder, slaps of skin against skin deafening the slow, sexy music Seonghwa had put on. 

And _now…_ with every thrust, Seonghwa sees a smile bloom across San’s lips, eyes closed and fingers letting go of Seonghwa’s hair to slide down his back and _press_. “Fuck,” San swears, but even then it’s still cute, almost giddy with how San says it, and Seonghwa can’t help the smile that tugs at his own lips when San opens his eyes to look at him. 

For a second, it’s almost hard to believe, and even so it doesn’t take away from the moment at all, just builds the feeling in Seonghwa’s stomach when San pats at his lips for Seonghwa to kiss him again and he does. Nice and deep and soft, slowing his thrusts again to get _deeper_ inside of San, aim for overwhelming instead of hard. 

_“Fuuuuck,”_ and maybe it works since the smile on San’s lips gets wiped off when Seonghwa angles himself differently, pushing San’s thighs to his chest. “God, how are you so _deep?”_

Seonghwa doesn’t bother responding, just picks up his pace again. Faster and faster, still deep, still overwhelming, until all he can see on San’s face is unabashed pleasure, falling from his lips in sweet moans and whines of Seonghwa’s name. 

He won’t lie and say it doesn’t flatter him just the slightest when San lets go to grip his shoulders, hold on like he can’t anymore, fingers tightening and opening to dig nails into his shoulder. It _stings_ and that makes it so much better. 

When he presses back down onto San and sets a punishing pace, he sees San’s lips tremble, eyes shut closed; feels San’s nails drag harsh lines down his back, up and down with every little thrust, unabashed moans falling from his lips. There’s no bigger satisfaction than dragging his lips over San’s jaw and hearing his breath catch at that barely-there pressure, listening to the whine of Seonghwa’s name that leaves him.

And that… that little sound of his name _breaks_ Seonghwa’s patience. Absolutely and positively ruins his resolve, and he lets go to fuck into San faster and faster, biting clumsy hickeys on his chest. When San’s hands stop on his shoulder, Seonghwa blindly looks for them, grabs San’s wrists in his hands and presses them above his head and on the mattress, tight grip and hard press.

San looks nothing less than _ravished,_ hair mussed up and blush high on his cheeks, whimpering when Seonghwa tightens his hands around his wrists. So he _likes_ it. He likes it, and he’ll be the death of Seonghwa just like _that,_ in a snap. For the pretty way he’s shivering under him, the pleasant bliss expression on his face, the fire in his eyes that spurs Seonghwa on to go _harder._ His absolutely maddening duality.

“Seonghwa-hyung…” San begs, or seems like he is, “let me ride you. Please, can I ride you?” his eyes open, big and pleading, words falling in a frenzy from his lips.

“Please,” the whisper falls from Seonghwa’s own lips, smirking with a last kiss to San’s neck. He pulls out, slow, and turns to let San straddle his thighs, grip Seonghwa behind him and line him up with his hole. 

San moves like he _needs_ Seonghwa’s cock in him from second one, head thrown back and lip bitten between his teeth as he sinks down in that one smooth move. Like he’s doing this entirely for himself. 

“San-ah—” 

San, the _fiend_ , puts his hands on Seonghwa’s chest, pressing him down, and when he opens his eyes, Seonghwa sees him change. 

Sees him _perform._ Because that’s what he’s doing, smoothly rolling his hips on Seonghwa; any sweetness that might’ve remained is fully gone now, and Seonghwa gets to see a San that he never really has, or at least not fully.

Seductive. Disarming. Seonghwa’s jaw drops, hands on San’s thighs feeling the muscles move when he pulls up and drops back down, quicker and quicker, setting a pace that pulls deep moans out of Seonghwa. The sight of San’s pretty body above his, his small waist, the press of his hands on his muscles makes quite a picture.

Seonghwa would love nothing more than to immortalize this moment, keep it saved so he can come back to it over and over again. But he can’t, so he does so in his mind, fixing the stunning image behind his eyelids. 

San is nothing but determined, pressing Seonghwa into the rose petals to drop down quicker on him, swivel his hips in ways that shouldn’t be legal. 

_Damn_ Choi San, and these hidden parts of him.

When San’s thighs start to tremble, when he drops down on Seonghwa’s chest, Seonghwa takes mercy and turns them back around, San’s legs held tightly around his waist. He can feel San’s heels digging into his lower back as Seonghwa does not spare one second to fuck back into him, _harsh._

“Harder,” San asks, staring deep into Seonghwa’s soul, lip bitten tight in his mouth, eyes lidded and snapping back right away. “Harder, Seonghwa-hyung, fuck me,” he begs, for Seonghwa to give him everything. Seonghwa drags nails down his chest, wonders at how insanely _beautiful_ San is under him. A ball of seductive, dark, confident energy. 

Seonghwa gives it to him like he deserves to be fucked. Worshipped, maybe, as Seonghwa kisses him and then looks down into San’s eyes to see that fire he doesn’t bother to keep hidden anymore. San’s arms wrap around his neck, tight, holding Seonghwa down on him, close, pressing down his sweaty body. 

Way too close, giving Seonghwa the littlest amount of space to fuck up into him. With San’s hands tight around his waist, his arms wrapped closely around Seonghwa’s back, Seonghwa fucks up into San with those punchy, little thrusts that must be driving San crazy by the small noises he lets out. Breathing into each other’s mouths, close, so _close_ Seonghwa feels himself tumbling towards to the edge too when San whimpers in his mouth, hard breaths and warmth, and arches up, pressing his untouched cock into Seonghwa’s stomach, and begs with Seonghwa’s name like a litany on his lips. 

They’re touching everywhere, so close there’s not one inch of space between them. And even so, San tries to pull him closer; Seonghwa sneaks a hand between them and tugs at San’s cock, knuckles pressing into his stomach, lips kissing a trace up his neck and to his ear. “Close?”

San answers by turning his head to the side and kissing the corner of Seonghwa’s mouth. Chasing it with his lips—desperate, eager, he bites Seonghwa’s lip when he can’t hold back and throws his head back when he comes with the loudest, prettiest moan. 

Seonghwa can’t take his eyes off him. Couldn’t if he tried, captivated by the pleasure he brought to San’s face and the way it twists this time. No matter how many times he’s made San come, nothing compares to the feeling of being inside him like he is, the sight of seeing San fall apart from Seonghwa inside him, everywhere around him.

Spurred by San, Seonghwa gets close to the edge himself, especially as San tightens around him, increasingly overstimulated whines slipping from his mouth. 

“Seonghwa-hyung…” San begs, and Seonghwa feels the orgasm creeping up on him, building steadily in his stomach. He buries himself deep in San and comes hard into the condom, San’s lips now on his and his tongue slipping in Seonghwa’s mouth to urge him on, make Seonghwa let go of everything.

The time coming down from it, when he’s still buried deep inside San, when San’s legs are still tightly wrapped around him, when his tongue lazily licks behind Seonghwa’s teeth, is the best. The tendril of pleasure running through Seonghwa’s veins, a leftover from his orgasm, is nothing more than pleasant. He kisses San back, their slow kiss way too wet and way too lazy to be rising anything else in Seonghwa. It’s pleasant, and just that.

When it starts being _too much_ , Seonghwa holds the base of the condom and slowly pulls out, letting San’s legs untangle from his back. Seonghwa expects San to wince, draw into himself, something, when Seonghwa pulls out. Instead, San _moans._

San… Seonghwa should really stop being surprised.

Seonghwa pulls the condom off and ties it, padding off the bed to find tissues on the desk and wrap it in many, throwing it into the bin. He picks up more tissues to take with him.

And then he turns around. To see San intently watching him, legs bent at his knees and splayed to the side, come drying on his stomach, softening cock laying on his hipbone. Seonghwa sees the marks he left on San’s chest and feels the sting of those on his back. The look in his eyes is smouldering, intense, even if he looks beyond fucked out, ravished. 

On the bed of roses, Seonghwa draws his eyes over San, over the picture he wants to make. Climbing on the bed, kneeling between his spread legs, wordlessly wiping the mess on San’s stomach, San traces his movements. Seonghwa doesn’t know what he wants, but he won’t be the one to ask. 

“I’ll go shower, okay?” San suddenly says, jumping from over him and bounding to the bathroom. Seonghwa is left behind with the phantom feeling of San’s legs around him, the warmth of San’s body under his. 

By when he comes back, Seonghwa’s cleaned up the mess of roses on the bed. He replaces San in the shower for the quickest one of his life and then joins San into the bed, above the comforter. Seonghwa lets San maneuver them around until he’s laying on Seonghwa’s chest, looking to the side. 

Seonghwa has to admit San does silence really well. It’s always pointed with him, always purposeful. Thankfully, Seonghwa has the patience to match. 

“I’m glad you came back,” San starts, laying a hand on Seonghwa’s upper stomach. 

“Mmm. Me too. The circumstances weren’t the best but… I’m glad as well.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” San asks, tone low and understanding. Seonghwa wants to chuckle. _Ah, Sannie._ “But… only if you want to. I don’t want to force you if it’s hard for you.”

Seonghwa looks up at the ceiling and then back down at San, his brown hair mussed up and pooling on Seonghwa’s shoulder. San isn’t looking at him, is looking at where his finger now draws circles on Seonghwa’s chest.

“Let’s get a drink and I’ll tell you, okay?” 

San’s excitement as he sits opposite of Seonghwa on the couch, champagne flute in his hand, is _palpable._ It clearly drums under his gaze even if he tries to hold it back. It makes sense that he’s curious—who wouldn’t be? Seonghwa came and strung him along for weeks; it’s fair he thinks he deserves to know.

Seonghwa sits on the other side of the couch, his own flute in his hand. Hmm… how does he start? Post-orgasm glow, in this comfortable, beautiful room, Seonghwa doesn’t feel the tug of his story as intensely as he usually does. It’s easier to open up, maybe. Or it’s just San.

“Well… to explain this well, I should start from university. I actually started working from my first year to afford it, at this foreign advertising firm, one of the most well-known in the industry. They had an internship program for people in their first year and I got in; after I finished, they gave me a part-time job with them which I continued to on from freshman year on. I worked for them during the week, often more than part-time.

“They were great to me. They paid me fairly, let me do interesting things, and I learned a lot from them; in return, I worked hard. In my third year, they even supported me to go abroad so I could learn English properly. The expectation was I’d be in their firm for a few years after I graduated. And I was. After I finished university, I went straight in,” he fiddles with his glass, remembering the pride and excitement he felt when he graduated summa cum laude, and got to walk the steps to pick up his diploma. He was proud, his parents were proud, everyone was proud. 

“I got promoted one and a half years after. I was young, but I had been with them for three years already, I knew my stuff, and I worked hard. My boss was this amazing woman—she had been my mentor from the start, and she genuinely believed in me. 

“But she left after two years or so. She was replaced by someone who wanted her entire department restructured, from top to bottom. She had made a new position for our teams that reflected some of other departments in the company. There were two spots for these new positions—and three candidates.” 

Seonghwa smiles, noticing the harsh intake of breath coming from San. 

“I got promoted. No one under 30 had ever gotten that position.” 

And San breathes out, looking intently at Seonghwa. 

“The guy that didn’t get it… everyone knew the new boss hated him. Nobody knew for what reason, but it was very well known. When we got promoted, he had no problem with the other person who got it. But he had an issue with me. Said that it was because I was pretty and I had slept with the CEO, this kind of slander.”

“That’s such bullshit,” San interrupts. “Are you serious? I’m sure that wasn’t true, you’re—“

“It was,” Seonghwa smiles, chuckling at the way San visibly freezes. “I confronted her, and she told it straight to my face.”

Seonghwa remembers her words vividly. They play in his brain without fail if he brings it up, just as they sounded then. _I just wanted to do you a favour and push you along, so you better be thankful. Plus, pretty faces like yours can get far in any business, do you get me, and we don’t want one like yours ruined._

She looked him up and down, slid a finger down his chest. Seonghwa feels the ghost of it.

“There was nothing in her expression when she told me, but I knew it. I knew right then that if I was to continue, she’d make my life a living hell if I didn’t follow her interests; I also knew that one day, it might come down to things I didn’t want to do. So I quit.” 

San’s mouth, dropped open, is the picture of shock. Seonghwa chuckles to himself once again. 

“That’s…” And San stops. Seonghwa doesn’t blame him for not having anything to say.

“I know. I think… I knew things like that happened, you know, and I was ready to deal with them when they came. That wasn’t the issue. The thing was… I thought for so long that I was worthy of the things that I had, and that I worked hard for them, so to hear I wasn’t… that it didn’t matter, that I got promoted half because the boss had a grudge and half because she thought I was hot... that was the hardest pill to swallow. 

“And for a while after, I also blamed myself for not doing it, you know? I thought… I made it that far, why wouldn’t I? It’d help me. It felt terrible that I couldn’t really follow through with what I started doing, with what I came to Seoul to do. I knew I was a coward for quitting, and running away, and deciding not to sue; I was weak, and took the easiest way out. So I just… with all of that, I needed to come back and clear my head, and think of what I want to do next.”

“You aren’t. You’re not a coward. You’re… Seonghwa hyung,” San’s hand grabs Seonghwa’s free one, his champagne, like Seonghwa’s, now fully gone. Seonghwa appreciates the comfort, really, even if it’s not needed; he’s had time to think about it, and realized that it was the smartest decision. A clean break, nothing to affect him moving on. 

That didn’t make it easier though, right then in the moment. 

“Did it help? That you came back?” San asks, and Seonghwa shakes his head to get back into himself. He’s never told the story like this to anyone, top to bottom. No matter how he feels he's over it… there will always be something.

“It helped. It helped remind me that I still made it far despite all of this. Taking freelance projects and stuff, and just being able to relax.”

“I didn’t know. I feel so shitty, I’m sorry, I…”

“Why would you feel shitty?” Seonghwa looks down at San, resting a hand on his cheek and looking straight at him. San’s eyes looking up at him are wide, honest, the slightest _guilt_ in them. He’s just too sweet. “You’ve helped immensely, I can’t even tell you how much. I wouldn’t have started working again if it wasn’t for you, and I definitely wouldn’t be doing so well.”

“I’m glad then,” San nods, tilting his head into Seonghwa’s hand. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“I know. As bad as it sounds, I’m also glad I went through the shit I did, if it meant I’d end up here.” And as he says it, he thinks it is a little bit too much, maybe—it is all so temporary for him still, but he’s so happy in this moment that there are few things that could make him feel lesser than so. San smiles, soft and understanding, and Seonghwa does too. Before his smile falls.

“… I can’t believe I ruined _both_ of our first times.”

“San-ah,” Seonghwa pulls at San’s arm, half-asleep himself. The ass slap is more unintended than anything, really, but it makes such a pretty sound it definitely jolts Seonghwa awake for just a second, unholy thoughts passing freely through his head.

San doesn’t budge. Seonghwa tries again just to try, before San suddenly turns to face him and pulls at the hand resting on the bed to destabilize Seonghwa right into San’s chest. Game over. 

“Nap a lil’ more?”

“Mmm, we should get up,” Seonghwa mumbles, already falling under. The soft press of San’s hand around his waist, the regular cadence of his breathing, only ruin Seonghwa’s resolve. He hears San doze off and does the same.

After a long day of lazing around on the beach, Seonghwa is surprised that San wants to spend their evening also on the beach. But he gets it—now that it is fully dark, they get to appreciate the beautiful lights of Haeundae, the laughter of the many people doing the same thing as them, relaxing, laughing, enjoying themselves in the relaxed atmosphere. It is somehow different in the night air, much more so.

San takes his shoes off right when he steps on the sand, and then prods Seonghwa. 

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those people.”

“What people?”

“That are too prim and proper to take their shoes off on the beach. Come on,” he prods Seonghwa again, finger digging in his side, which makes Seonghwa startle with a laugh. San looks like he’s won a prize by just figuring out Seonghwa is ticklish; Seonghwa has the odd feeling it will be used against him at many points. 

But he’s not; he’s definitely not too prim and proper to enjoy the feeling of sand under his feet, shoes held in his left hand as they slowly travel down the beach. San pulls him towards the water, just to the edge where it won’t reach. The sound of it is enough—the waves wash through Seonghwa’s thoughts and obliterate all the worries that make their home in nooks and cracks. Can’t fight something as powerful as the sea, he figures. 

San’s hand brushes against his, maybe by accident. Seonghwa freezes—for just a second, keeps walking but feels his body seize up from where San touched him, and for the first time, tells himself it’s not worth it. 

San’s noise of surprise when Seonghwa tangles their hands together is music to his ears, the look he throws to Seonghwa raising fondness in his chest. “Hyung…” The beach is nowhere near as dark as it should be, from the lights of the buildings and the ornate light fixtures, but there is something comforting about the night, as sheer as it may be. 

He cares. He always has, and he always will; but maybe just not for a bit. 

“Thank you,” San says, just the softest words Seonghwa would have missed if they weren’t whispered so close to his ear.

“For what?”

“For everything.”

Well, that’s an ominous phrase. If San didn’t say it so sweetly, Seonghwa would think he is being broken up with. 

“No, really,” San continues. “I think I needed a break. From many things, and… yeah. Thank you.” His head drops on Seonghwa’s shoulder for the briefest second. 

“Thank you as well,” Seonghwa replies, because he thinks he gets it. 

And then it’s silence—comfortable, easy, light. That’s always how it is between them; Seonghwa feels no pressure to say anything, do anything, when San’s presence alone is so powerful, so comforting. 

“…can we get back to the room now?”

“You don’t want to see more of Busan?” Seonghwa chuckles, picking up his shoes from next to him.

“I’ve definitely seen Busan more times than I’ve seen you naked. I don’t want to add to the tally.”

Seonghwa takes San’s hand and with a laugh, pulls him in the direction of their hotel. If they have one more night here, maybe they should make it count.

The call from Yunho the following week comes as a surprise, all in all; Seonghwa isn’t surprised when his name flashes on his screen, but he definitely is when Yunho takes a hot second to reply when Seonghwa answers with a cursory _hello._

_“Hyung,”_ he rasps, and Seonghwa’s heart drops to his stomach. It feels… like something happened. _“How are you?”_

“I’m doing alright?” Seonghwa settles into the couch, laying his head on the back of it. His hair falls down over the back of the couch. 

It’s been quite a while since Seonghwa’s heard Yunho sound like this. Low, private.

“How are you?”

_“I’m good. I just… wanted to call to tell you something.”_

Hmm. Nice. “What’s up?”

_“Uhh… I know you’re living in your summer paradise right now, and Hongjoong-hyung didn’t want to tell you. We actually had a massive fight over this, he’s definitely going to kill me when he finds out I told you, so please put in a good word for me, alright?”_

Seonghwa affectionately rolls his eyes; like _his_ good word will ever help Yunho too much with Hongjoong.

_“Hongjoong-hyung’s company... Their marketing director couldn’t really hold up with what they needed. So they’ll need a new marketing director soon. Like… next week soon. Hongjoong-hyung was going to start interviewing, but… They’re still fairly small, you know, but… they’re growing. And they’re growing fast, and the salary isn’t terrible, and you could work with him and Mingi too... And you could lead, do whatever you want to, and yeah…”_ Yunho trails off, his previous steam lost. Interesting.

Seonghwa hums a noise, and gets up from the couch, tucking his legs under himself.

_“I don’t want to force you into coming back, but I think you deserve the choice.”_

It makes sense, that Hongjoong wouldn’t tell him. And it makes sense that Yunho has. 

The rest of the conversation with Yunho, Seonghwa mulls over the idea like a child with a new toy, turning it over on all its parts to see how it works, where it starts, what kind of noises it makes.

It squeaks a funny noise at Seonghwa when he prods at it. One that kind of makes him want to push at it more, see what it’s about. 

By the time he hangs up with Yunho, his decision has already been made.

Seonghwa spends a whole night looking up at the ceiling, mussing Yunho’s words over and over in his head. It’s not that he does not know whether he should take the job; that decision had been made the instant Yunho told him about it. It’s just… quick.

He turns around, eyes staring at his phone on the nightstand. He picks it up; it’s 3:41, and there are no more texts on his home screen. 

San’s last text, the _‘Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow :)’_ at 00:53 stares at him. 

They’re going out tomorrow. Seonghwa is taking San to this pop-up chocolate and food fair on the outskirts of Busan. He was going to ask him out for real today, because Hongjoong told him he’s an idiot for thinking the things he’s thinking, and he’s not helping himself by refusing to be an adult about the fact that he’s leading San on. 

But now… it does not feel like the best idea anymore, asking him out.

“You have chocolate on your face,” Seonghwa laughs, pointing at a spot next to his own lips to mirror San’s face. From next to him, San makes a squeak of surprise and tries to reach it with his tongue. 

He doesn’t. Seonghwa laughs again, turning San’s face to his by his chin and swiping a thumb over his cheek. He sucks his thumb between his lips to get it off, the taste of dark chocolate blooming over his tongue. Bitter. Way too bitter for Seonghwa. 

San’s mouth drops, the hand that isn’t holding the chocolate suddenly on Seonghwa’s thigh. 

“Seonghwa-hyung…” Seonghwa brings his hand back to San’s chin. They’re in a quieter part of the park, on a bench behind some trees. 

Seonghwa leans in. Leaves San the few last centimeters, feels his jaw tighten as San’s lips touch his.

He tastes like dark chocolate, except this time it’s more intense; bitter, and yet blooming sweet across Seonghwa’s tastebuds as their tongues tangle, and San’s hand tightens desperately on Seonghwa’s thigh. “Take me home.” 

Seonghwa smiles. 

“My grandparents aren’t home, I…”

“Sure,” Seonghwa pulls him up, their bags of chocolate held tight in Seonghwa’s other hand. 

Later. Maybe later.

It’s evening by the time they get back to San’s house. Sunset streaks pink and red over the dark blue skies; Seonghwa lets his eyes drift over it for just a second at a red light.

“Take a right here,” San whispers, quiet enough to match the soft, and yet intense atmosphere. His whisper aims to not break it; it would be a shame to, because this wonderful balance, meeting in the middle they’ve reached…

Seonghwa parks the car in front of San’s house and lets his fingers tread through his. 

He sees little of the house; he doubts he would want to focus on it even if he could. In mostly complete quiet, San pulls him slowly through the house, broken by just a few harder breaths, the presses of light switches. 

San’s room entirely lacks the childhood bedroom vibe present in Seonghwa’s. It makes sense, since San actually lives here. It’s orderly and clean, and yet lived-in. Full of pictures. Of San with his grandparents, with his parents, with Wooyoung and Yeosang. Seonghwa gets just a glance. 

Doesn’t really need more. 

Right now, that’s not what he’s here for. He’s here for San. 

San, who is looking intently at Seonghwa when Seonghwa’s eyes turn back to face him. Silently, San takes one, two, three steps closer for the look in his eyes to be fully, clearly evident in Seonghwa. The look full of _something_ , brimming under his shining eyes, so real in the trembling hands when San tangles both of them together to press on his hips. 

Seonghwa tries to gather that look into coherent thoughts and finds he can’t; it’s akin to a knot in your throat that you try to swallow, an overwhelming wave of emotion that makes your knees buckle, the desperation of a hesitant kiss when you feel too much and can’t express it.

Seonghwa tries to understand San and finds he entirely, utterly _can’t_ ; when San does press that desperate kiss against his lips, soft and yet intense, demanding, Seonghwa wants to know how those emotions feel. It’s been so long since he has felt them. 

He can only take San’s word for it, said silently in a whisper of Seonghwa’s name as San lays back on his bed and waits for Seonghwa to follow. _Please_ , it goes unsaid, and it’s so unlike any other time San’s begged for him that it moves Seonghwa out of his body’s own accord to kneel between San’s legs and let himself be pulled down in a kiss. 

It’s so soft it makes Seonghwa’s elbows give, for him to lay down closer on San. _Please,_ San whispers in his lips, and Seonghwa undresses him slowly, presses hands up San’s stomach, reverently up his chest and to the sides of his neck, tickled by the unruly ends of San’s hair. When Seonghwa takes off his own shirt, San’s hands splay on the lines of his abs, mouth open and eyes fixed on where they touch. Seonghwa wonders what he’s thinking about. 

Is he happy? Is he not? 

Is this everything he’s ever wanted?

Suddenly, he turns around, going away for just a second and pressing a bottle and a foil wrapper in Seonghwa’s hand. And then he turns his back to Seonghwa. 

A gesture of trust. Maybe. Seonghwa would ask to see San’s face, but he doesn’t know if he can look into his eyes right now. He doesn’t know… if he can bear seeing that pure, unadulterated _love_ in them and not have to ask for forgiveness in the space of his collarbones, in the curve of his shoulder. 

Seonghwa opens San up with one, two, three soft fingers pressing into him. San’s mouth, resting on his elbows, muffled in the pillow, lets out hard breaths, but it’s so silent otherwise that a shudder passes through Seonghwa, from his neck to the bottom of his spine. San tightens around him, moans at a well-placed thrust, high and _broken._

The room is cold. Is it? There is a slight wind from the open window, so maybe it is, but San is _warm_. San lets out soft gasps, uninhibited and so, _so open_ , so open for Seonghwa, so… San splays his hands to his sides and grasps the sheets _tight_ when Seonghwa slides inside him. San cries out a short, high-pitched moan of his name when Seonghwa presses _deep_.

Dizzy on that sound, Seonghwa leans over his back, pressing his chest to San’s, finding one of his hands to tangle into his, press it under San’s chest. Fingers tangled together, Seonghwa’s knuckles accidentally dig into the bone under San’s neck but San doesn’t let him move, holding him up as San’s legs tremble under Seonghwa’s. He presses deeper—deeper into San’s warmth, physically, into that unbounded open space that feels like it swallows Seonghwa whole, mentally. San cries out prayers of _please_ and _more_ , whispered in the satin-covered pillow, so earnest with that ache in his voice that Seonghwa’s hand trembles where he holds himself up, next to San’s frame.

His need is like a drug that burns Seonghwa whole, up the veins and stabbing through his heart, moans buried in the back of San’s neck when San crumbles to fall down onto the bed. He’s trembling—shivering in Seonghwa’s arms, front fully pressing into the bed, hips held up just where Seonghwa has wrapped a hand around his small waist, so he doesn’t collapse. Entirely and completely held up by Seonghwa, malleable to just where Seonghwa wants him.

San goes easily when Seonghwa pulls—no protest, nothing but a moan as he lays back on his knees with Seonghwa, back pressing to his chest. Seonghwa’s hands hold his hips, and San wrenches his hands over his, squeezing _tight._

Seonghwa wonders if his eyes are open. He doubts. If they’re closed, what is San seeing? What is he thinking about to be able to beg so easily, open up so earnestly for him? Seonghwa holds his hips and tries to match that tremble of his name on San’s lips with pressing as deep as he can—that much he can do. 

He can make San _feel_ good. Physically, he can give San this much, he can turn his hands so San’s fingers tangle with his and _squeeze._ San stops. For just a second, he presses himself as deep as he can go and tightens his fingers in Seonghwa’s. 

God, how must that feel? 

Seonghwa presses a kiss to the back of San’s neck because he does not know what would come out of his mouth if he doesn’t. Shaky lips on San’s skin, he lets San lead the pace, roll his hips, _pleasepleaseplease…_

Prayers falling from his lips, except Seonghwa is no god. Seonghwa is painfully, achingly human, and he can’t do much more than press up into San, match that agonizingly slow pace, and hold tight on his hands for the ride. 

Whoosh. Seonghwa falls faster and faster into that darkness he thought he’d never get to see, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead into the sharp angles of San’s shoulder. He never closes his eyes; he always wants to _see._ Including now. He opens his eyes again and moans, low and long, and San echoes it with a cry of his own, reflected in the walls and coming back to surround the air around Seonghwa. He’s making San feel this good. He’s…

San is begging, Seonghwa realizes. That much Seonghwa can give—that much he can do. Lay San’s head back on his shoulder and tug at him, wrapping their joined arms around San’s waist and pressing _tight_. If San wants to be held close… 

San breaks with a moan so, _so_ intense, so desperate Seonghwa twitches in surprise and holds him tighter to his body, afraid San will shake and tremble out of his arms. He doesn’t thrust anymore—pushes into San and waits it out. 

It’s… even if he wanted to, he doesn’t think he could hold back. He doesn’t… San turns around and presses his lips desperately to the corner of his mouth with aftershocks of his orgasm like an earthquake through a mountain. _Please, Seonghwa, please,_ like he’s not happy, not satisfied… what can Seonghwa do more?

What can Seonghwa give him more than this? 

_Please,_ whispered on Seonghwa’s cheek, San thrusts back with these small movements because Seonghwa is holding him too tight for much more than that. Something else mumbled, so small and tiny Seonghwa doesn’t catch it because his ears are suddenly ringing and his orgasm hits him like a freight truck. Heavy, out of nowhere, obliterating everything in his sight as he tugs San close enough to _hurt._

He falls and crashes and doesn’t realize it until he’s at the bottom, waking up with San’s lips desperately pushing on his, head tilted back uncomfortably. Seonghwa takes mercy and tilts his own head to the right, so San can kiss him to his heart’s content. 

It’s a lot. Suddenly way too much, foreign feelings traveling through Seonghwa, starting in his stomach and ending in his chest. Unnerving, shaky, unsettling. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Seonghwa shakes his head. “What for?”

San looks into his eyes. He looks… _guilty._

He shakes his head. “I… never mind.” 

And he kisses Seonghwa again. Seonghwa lets him. Lets him slip away and free himself, Seonghwa dragging out of him. San pulls the condom from him, ties it and puts it somewhere in the room. 

He comes back. Seonghwa’s in the same position, on his knees in the middle of his bed. 

San hesitates for a breath, head tilted and mouth open. Whatever he needed to find—Seonghwa holds out his arms and San falls into them, lips clumsily connecting to Seonghwa’s, naked chest arching up into his own.

He must’ve found something then.

Seonghwa wishes he knew what it was he’s looking for. Maybe then he’d be able to give him what he wants.

San’s kitchen island isn’t where Seonghwa wants to break it to him. San is shining half with post-orgasm glow and half with heat coming from the outside; their air conditioner doesn’t reach the kitchen. But even so, San fixes them each a glass of wine.

“It’s… almost 9 PM. My grandparents will be home soon.”

Well then… San’s kitchen island isn’t where Seonghwa is going to break it to him.

“Want to take a walk then?” he asks, sees the little frown in San’s eyebrows. “I have something to talk to you about.”

Maybe San can also tell it’s not something particularly pleasing. And even so, he follows Seonghwa out of his house, and falls in step with him. 

San doesn’t let him start, however, just shoots off into conversation until it reaches the point he wants it to. Seonghwa knows, because when he thinks he’s made it not obvious enough what he’s looking for, he slows down and looks for an in. Small _mmm_ s, and pauses, and _huh_ s, and somehow Seonghwa mentions going somewhere with Yunho, and one minute later:

“You know, you started but you never ended up telling me more about them.”

“Them who?”

“Your Seoul friends. Your… ex? Yunho?”

“Ah,” Seonghwa laughs. “Would you like to know?”

“Yeah,” San nods, hands tucked in his pockets as he walks. “I was always… it just seemed like it was kind of messed up when you told me..” 

Is this San’s way of testing him out?

“I’ll tell you about them then. I met Hongjoong, the other friend who came here, in my year abroad. He also studied in the UK, where I did too. We became close friends quickly, and stayed that way after college. I met Yunho from the company, actually. His family’s firm were our clients. It was great for a while. Yunho was great, and I introduced him to Hongjoong because he is my best friend. 

“They clicked. Instantly; I could tell. At some point, Yunho told me he saw a movie with Hongjoong; it had slipped him, and I hadn’t even been invited. Truthfully, I didn’t care about the movie in the slightest, I was out of the country for business, and they probably wanted to see it in its opening weekend to avoid spoilers, but they hadn’t even _told me.”_

Seonghwa remembers that moment vividly. Yunho’s eyes hadn’t even shown a sign, he is that good of an actor, but Yunho knew Seonghwa was perceptive; of course he knew he’d figure it out. Truthfully, it had been much longer since Seonghwa realized it wasn’t probably going to work out, but that… was a sign like none else.

“I broke up with him a couple of months later. It just didn’t… work. Anymore.” He doesn’t stop, mostly unphased. It would be stupid to. “A week later, I went to buy my car. Hongjoong came with me, and helped me throw a small party for it, and then… got drunk, with Yunho, and they went home and slept together,” he smiles, turning to San and seeing him with his taken aback expression, a low, small one in the darkness. The shock doesn’t get to San as much as he thought; he wonders why. 

“So, yes. My best friend slept with my ex a week after we broke up. They told me a couple of days after, because I think they couldn’t take the guilt. And that was it.”

“Oh,” San nods, but still looks off. He looks like he wants to reach out to Seonghwa but doesn’t know how to; Seonghwa paints the smile on his face and leaves it there. San is… for once, Seonghwa can’t really read how he feels. “Can I… ask you something?”

“Sure?”

“Did they ever… you know, do anything? While you were dating?”

Seonghwa laughs, humming to himself and pondering how to answer the question. “Hmm. Is it fair to say… I never dared to ask? I don’t think I would want to know.” He turns to San, and sees him nod pensively. His hand reaches out to tangle with Seonghwa’s, and Seonghwa lets him. It matters to him very little, and perhaps it does the same to San as well.

And that’s that. That was that, and Seonghwa… questioned, but did little more.

Well… sort of. Actually, not really. He did more than that.

“That sounds kind of messed up.”

“It was. But I love them.” 

Seonghwa does, with all his heart. Realized (at some point) that it was pointless to fight fate, the happiness that they found in each other. 

Their clearing is in front of their eyes now. Maybe five minutes away to the bush letting them in. San doesn’t hold out for that long.  
“You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

His fingers tug on Seonghwa’s, threading tighter through his. Squeezing. Seonghwa doesn’t let go, smiles a low smile at the ground. 

“Tomorrow. I’m sorry. I didn’t... I didn’t know how to tell you.” 

“It’s fine. I figured it out.” 

“How?”

“… your mom told my grandma you took a new job today.”

Seonghwa cringes into himself. The silence hangs; unsettling and unpleasant, maybe, but also somehow wistful. Seonghwa steps over their bush when they get there, with practiced ease, and San doesn’t wait a second when they’re behind it to arch up and steal the air out of his lungs. 

“Sannie…” Seonghwa lays on his back on the grass, takes San straddling him and pressing eager kisses on his lips. Seonghwa lets him, because San deserves it, and because… he’ll miss this. He actually really will.

San pulls away, and looks down into Seonghwa’s eyes. Seonghwa’s hands tighten on his hips, thumbs rubbing comforting circles into his skin. 

“I’m just kinda... I don’t want to be sad,” he smiles, but his eyes are watery and he sniffles. “I’ve gone through this before. I knew you were gonna leave again, and I always stayed ready for it. It just… I didn’t know how much it would _hurt.”_

That… well, that tugs somewhere ugly in Seonghwa, his heart clenching. He’s… he doesn’t really know what to say.

“I don’t actually want to leave you like I did before,” he whispers to San above him, weirdly honest. He… doesn’t. He wants San and his life both.

“I know you don’t. I also... but the last thing I’d ever want is to hold you back. I’d hate that so fucking much,” and he means it. San says it with a determination so vivid in his teary eyes that Seonghwa melts under his gaze. “I’m okay… staying back. Seeing you sometimes, if you’d like?”

And Seonghwa… he wants to tell him, but he doesn’t think it’s his place. He doesn’t think San wants to know how Seonghwa sees him: as a caged feline, prancing around in his iron cage, taking it all in with familiar ease. Looking for his out.

He doesn’t think it’s his place, so he doesn’t. 

“I’d like that a lot. It’s not far; you can come up every weekend, if you want. Or I can come down. And we can get… creative.”

“We can,” San laughs through a sniffle. “I’ll look forward to that.”

His head drops in Seonghwa’s neck. “I don’t wanna cry. This is stupid,” he mumbles, and Seonghwa’s hand reaches out to hold his nape, comfort him.

His own eyes are getting teary, maybe. Just a little bit. When he left for the first time, he had been wooed by everything that was out there. Now, he’s… way more grounded, perhaps. Way more aware, even if just as determined, to know what he’s leaving behind and what he’s getting into.

For some reason, he thinks of Yunho, for the briefest bit. The quintessential symbol of life in Seoul for him—something he’s left behind and tried to get away from, but to which he ended up returning to, because he felt the _tug._

Eventually, Yunho stopped being like that for him—but the echoes of the person Seonghwa turned into remain.

“I trust it’ll work out. I know you,” San smiles in his neck, lips crooking on his skin. Taking San’s hand in his, Seonghwa tangles their fingers together and smooth his other hand through San’s hair.

And almost laughs, his mind flashing more memories in front of his eyes. 

_His hands tight around Yunho’s neck, legs wrapped around his waist, Yunho fucked up into him with abandon, thrusts unsteady and disorganized, too hard to be a rhythm. Face pressed into Seonghwa’s neck, biting painful marks in the side of it._

_They had broken up. They shouldn’t have done this._

_Last time, Seonghwa promised._

_Behind them, abandoned on the couch, Yunho’s phone flashed bright. Seonghwa chuckled, cut off by a moan, and wrapped his arms tighter around Yunho, tighter than it seemed possible, and cried out when Yunho changed angle and got_ so _deep._

_Later, ghost feeling of Yunho still inside of him, Seonghwa went to his closet, and took out one of the two boxes on the bottom shelf, the bigger one under. He didn’t think he’d ever get to use this again after they had broken up. And yet…_

_He brought it back inside his bedroom, where Yunho was on the bed, texting someone. Yunho put his phone away on the nightstand, face up, when Seonghwa came close and put the box next to him on the bed, straddling his knees._

_Seonghwa couldn’t help but take a peek at it when it lit up. Hongjoong’s name flashed on the screen, but Yunho’s hands were tight on his thighs and his tongue pressed apologies on places he was too rough with bites._

_Seonghwa opened the box._

He smiles back at San. It’s funny, because he doesn’t even know himself. 

He doesn’t know what was there and what is left, and not even this long of a trip back home, not even finding San, ended up being able to tell him. In many ways, Seonghwa hasn’t found himself.

But maybe it doesn’t matter; maybe there’s nothing to really find, and Seonghwa just needs to go on and live his life.

He walks San back home. Hands held tightly together, San tells Seonghwa about all the things he wants to see in Seoul. Seonghwa smiles, and keeps them in mind. 

Maybe someday. 

When they reach San’s house, Seonghwa can clearly tell the heat swimming in San’s eyes. The street lights turn off a minute after, and when San turns to him, Seonghwa easily accepts his kiss. 

It’s intense. Heated and warm, San’s hands throw themselves around his neck, and Seonghwa’s hands wrap tightly around his back. San’s lips slide on his with so much hunger, so much… _so much of everything_ , that Seonghwa barely holds himself upright. 

It’s a welcome reminder of just how much San _feels_ —how intense he is about everything, and how determined he is. His tongue sneaks into Seonghwa’s mouth, licks over his lip, San pulls back and dives back in and kisses Seonghwa so hard. 

Seonghwa gets what he wants to say. 

He gets it, and when they break apart, he puts it in his chest and leaves it there. To deal with later, maybe.

Their last kiss is sweet. Seonghwa puts his hands on San’s cheeks and presses his lips to his. “I’ll see you soon?”

And he lets go.

“I’ll see you soon.” 

In all the ways he could.

And as he walks back home, steps light and smile playing on his face, he feels nothing but _relieved._ Like he’s finally coming back into himself. Stretching after a long sleep, sitting upright in his bed. That excitement that only comes when facing something head-on, when achieving something, when moving to become a greater version of himself burns bright through him.

All these things he’s missed. And for which he _finally_ feels ready again. 

His suitcases are packed. His parents are waiting for him in the kitchen; he takes one look at them, and figures there’s no point in delaying it. 

Why wait until the morning?

His mother hugs him as he leaves; surprisingly, his dad does too. Whispered advice in his ear, his mother hugs him tight once more and makes him promise he’ll come back more often. Well… maybe he will. 

As he drives on the dark road up to Seoul, and the sign for his hometown flashes behind him, he knows that this time, it’s different. As he’s leaving, he knows that he has one more bed waiting for him. If he ever comes back. 

And that his own bed is ready—if San ever decides to let go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... this story was originally going to end differently, but then I figured... I don't want it to. However, that means that I have quite a lot of material left and SO MANY IDEAS for after this, so expect an epilogue from me some time soon!!
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading. I feel so many ways about this fic and it has been such an experience portraying them, that I hope you have enjoyed it with me. Feedback, thoughts, comments, screaming, are all very much appreciated. <3 My CC and twt are @bbysvts if you want to come scream at me! :) <3


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